


A Dog's Life

by ornategrip



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Background Matt/Karen, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Frank's dog - Freeform, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Slow Burn, no reconciliation between Matt and Foggy, one-sided Foggy/Matt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-07-28 19:25:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 68,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7653748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ornategrip/pseuds/ornategrip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day Foggy came home and Frank Castle was on his couch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Done for a daredevilkinkmeme prompt, the finished story is [here](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/7552.html?thread=14149248#cmt14149248)
> 
> Explicit rating is for later chapters and if you can think of any tags I should add just let me know! I'm terrible at tagging.

One day Foggy came home and Frank Castle was on his couch.

Just sitting on his couch, drinking one of Foggy’s expensive beers, settled in like he was there for the duration. Like he had been sitting there a while, getting comfy in Foggy’s apartment and taking in the atmosphere. Foggy just stared at him and Frank just stared back and honestly?

This was not a staring contest Foggy was going to win.

This was not a fight Foggy was going to win, if that’s what it came down to. While they were almost the same height and technically, Foggy was a bit thicker around the middle, Foggy knew that was because he was made out of marshmallow fluff, not totally shredded core muscles.

His phone was in his pocket, his baseball bat was in his bedroom and Matt wasn’t in his life at all so the odds of Daredevil coming to his rescue was slim to none. Matt, he thought with a pang. Don’t be sad at my funeral, you dick.

“I don’t want to fight,” he blurted out and Frank just squinted at him. Foggy remembered that squint from the trial. Frank was good at squinting.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Frank said, sounding a little annoyed, like it was so fucking rude of Foggy to think the guy with the moniker “The Punisher” might be up to no good. Foggy was going to die and Frank Castle was acting like Foggy was the asshole.

“You broke into my apartment. You kill people, you are-”

“I just wanted to see my dog.”

“Your dog?” Foggy demanded even as he hysterically wondered why the hell he was getting into an argument with the goddamned Punisher but unable to help himself. “Your dog? My dog. My dog, who I’ve taken to therapy, given a home, I pick up his poop off the goddamned sidewalk every goddamned day and you know what? Fuck you.”

Frank eyeballed him.

“You seem high-strung.”

“I’m a high-powered lawyer, no thanks to you. Of course I’m high-strung.”

They stared at each other some more.

“I just wanted to see the dog.”

And for a moment Foggy saw that vulnerability that he tried so hard to pretend didn’t exist when he was representing Frank. When he told himself Frank was a murderer and no matter how much Karen and Matt insisted he deserved a fair shot, a part of Foggy hadn’t believed it.

Didn’t want to.

Things had changed, though. Since the trial. Since everything good in his life had disintegrated and then reformed into something different and strange. Things weren’t black and white. A really hard lesson he’d learned the last few months, out on his own with only Marci as an intermittent anchor. It wasn’t fun running into the brick wall of his own convictions and realizing it was nothing but cracks.

The anger he had purposely been building to keep the fear at bay abruptly collapsed. Foggy had never been good at anger and his fear had always been better spent on people other than on himself. At least that hadn’t changed.

He reached up to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

“You just wanted to see the dog,” he repeated, trying to push back his blooming headache. “Sure, you know what? Yeah. See the dog.”

“I was worried about him.”

“How did you even know he was here?” Foggy demanded dropping his hand and finally slinging his bag onto the table. Frank held up a newspaper, wrinkled and a bit old looking. Max’s smiling face stared out at him, Foggy kneeling beside the dog like some sort of nightmare yearbook photo his mother would have insisted on. 

His hair looked good though. He had spent an hour in a chair while a stylist went to work and chided him on the conditions of his ends.

“Shit,” he said. “Jeri made me do that. Said it was good PR.”

Next to him, leash still gripped firmly in hand, Max’s ears were perked up, looking at Frank like he recognized him. Max’s tail wagged slowly and Foggy sighed, leaning down to unclip the harness, slipping it off. Max turned to look at him and Foggy rubbed behind his ears.

“Go on, say hi.”

Frank patted his knee, whistled a bit and Max ambled over, nosing at his hand. Max was good with people, so desperate to please that it broke Foggy’s heart. Typical of fighting dogs, one of the trainers had told him. These dogs experienced so much brutality they knew that the only protection they might muster would be from the same hand that beat them.

“He’s still my dog,” Foggy told him as he headed towards the kitchen. “Now, did you leave me any beer?”

In the kitchen, once out of sight of Frank, he pulled out his phone and stared at the screen, swiping away the notification of a text from Marci. He’d get back to her later, feeling only a hazy sense of guilt that there were four or five unanswered messages from her from the last two weeks. This took precedence, right?

 911 would be easy enough to dial. Three little numbers. He could do it. From the living room, he could hear Frank crooning softly to Max, Max’s nails clicking along the floor.

He called the Chinese food place down the corner instead, put in a double order of his usual. Foggy had no idea how well murderous vigilantes ate on the regular. Might as well feed him. Predators moved slower when full, didn’t they?

He headed back into the living room, tucking his phone back in his pocket. Max was curled up on the couch, leaning against Frank’s side like Frank was his long lost mother.

“Hope you like Chinese,” he said, “It should be here in about twenty. Don’t answer the door, I’m not about to get arrested for harboring a fugitive. I’m going to go change. Turn the tv on, relax. Enjoy yourself. Have another beer.”

Frank didn’t bother to deign him with a response and Foggy left him to go into his bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him. He stripped out of his suit quickly, hanging up the pants and jacket carefully. Considering how much money his new wardrobe had cost him, (Foggy-Bear, Marci had told him patiently as he tried not to hyperventilate at the price tags, stop being a baby) Foggy made sure to treat his clothes better than he treated his body.

He had no problem shoving greasy food into his body but he sure as hell wasn’t going to do that while wearing one of his new suits.

Sweats and a tee-shirt later, he walked back into the living room to find Frank had done none of the things Foggy had suggested. No new beer, no tv. Just Frank sitting in silence while Max got all the cuddles he wanted.

Foggy sighed and snagged the remote before taking a seat on the couch, budging Max over so that he was firmly between Foggy and Frank. He clicked the tv on, immediately switched away from the news because he seriously did not want to know if Frank was here fresh off another murder spree.

Law & Order was on, of course, and Foggy made a face as he changed the channel, settling on a rerun of Bob’s Burgers. He stared at the screen, tried to will himself to pay attention to the candy colored adventures of the Belcher family and not on the man seated half a sofa from him.

Life was surreal.

“He looks good,” Frank said, polite enough to wait for a commercial. 

Foggy also remembered that raspy voice, rarely directed at him. Karen was who Frank had talked to and even though Karen had insisted to be the one to deal with him, part of Foggy was still a little ashamed at how quickly he had left all that to her. Being on the outs with Matt didn’t make that okay.

He didn’t look at Frank, instead he looked down at Max, running a hand along his haunch.

“He’s a good boy,” Foggy said, “I’ve been taking him to a trainer, they have to monitor him because of his background but he’s doing so good. He’s got his commands down, he’s not people aggressive, he’s still a bit wary around other dogs and we’re working on that. Work in progress, huh, bud?” 

Max licked Foggy’s hand then laid his head back on Frank’s thigh.

“Guess he remembers you.”

Frank scratched at his chin, a bit of a shrug in his shoulders. Foggy knew he could be chatty, certainly had been with Karen. Foggy, he hadn’t spoken to much. Ignored him for the most part. At the time, Foggy had been relieved.

“I didn’t do much.”

Foggy would have protested that but was interrupted by his doorbell. Max didn’t bark but went alert, head perking up and eyes brightening. One of the first things Max had learned from living with Foggy was that the doorbell usually meant food. Foggy ate takeout a lot.

“Food’s here!” he said, a little too brightly. “Stay, Max.”

He got up, snagging his bag and rummaging for his wallet. Cash in hand he opened the door to Ryan, the disenchanted teen who always delivered Foggy’s dinner. They did the familiar exchange, money for bags of food, Foggy making sure to tip well and then he was heading back into the living, burdened with delicious Chinese.

“Hope you don’t expect plates or silverware,” Foggy told Frank as he set the bags down on the coffee table. “Plastic forks and eating out the carton is how we roll here in Casa de Foggy. I’m going to grab a beer, you need another?”

Frank grunted an affirmative, already peeling open a carton and rummaging for the forks. Seems vigilantes didn’t eat so great on their own after all. Shaking his head, he went to the kitchen, grabbed and opened two beers as well as snagging some napkins. The ones the restaurant provided were always so thin as to be useless.

When he got back, Max was off the couch and on the floor and Foggy took one look at him and knew.

“You gave him a dumpling, didn’t you?”

Frank froze, mouth full of chow mein and Foggy tsked.

“He always wants the dumplings.”

He sat back down, grabbing his own carton and took to eating. He was hungry and Foggy wasn’t sure what it said about him that being in the same room as a killer wasn’t enough to put his appetite off. Maybe it just meant he was super tough.

They ate in silence, the tv the only noise. Frank ate like a soldier in the middle of a mission, putting away huge swatches of it without seeming to enjoy it. It seemed a terrible way to live. Sighing internally, Foggy tipped the box of spring rolls Frank’s way. He could do without spring rolls this once.

They both pretended not to notice when the other gave Max bits and pieces of beef and pork and Max was kind enough to beg from both of them evenly. Eventually the food dwindled until it was almost gone, Bob’s Burgers turned into another Bob’s Burgers then into Family Guy which made Foggy change the channel and Frank sat back with the air of a man impossibly full.

“Good food,” he said, all laconic drawl and Foggy hated the fact that Frank Castle sounded so damn cool by barely speaking. Foggy never sounded cool, not even in his own head.

He was just wondering if he should be offering up his couch for New York’s most wanted killer when Frank got to his feet and began gathering up empty cartons. The lazy part of Foggy wanted to leave him to it while the part of him hammered into his soul by his mother shrieked about making guests do the cleaning.

“I’ll do that,” he said and even he could hear the reluctance in his voice. He was just really lazy, okay. “Don’t worry about it.”

Frank just snorted, tipping the remaining left overs into one or two cartons and making off with the rest. Foggy could hear him in the kitchen, tossing the trash, putting the empty beer bottles on the counter. It felt disturbingly domestic and Max was looking at Foggy then looking in the direction of the kitchen, clearly torn. Foggy was still sitting in front of food though, so food plus Foggy meant Max stayed put.

The best way to repay loyalty, Foggy reflected, was to give people what they wanted. There were two dumplings left.

“Last one is mine, you hear?” he said, tossing one dumpling and watching Max snatch it out of the air. Frank cleared his throat and Foggy looked up startled. He hadn’t heard him return, too distracted by Max’s puppy eyes. 

Frank was hovering awkwardly near the edge of the room and it was strange watching him fidget now. At trial, even at his worst, the man had moved with precision, meticulous and hyperaware. Now he almost squirmed as Foggy stared up at him from the couch.

“Thanks,” Frank finally said, gruffly, “For taking him in.”

“I didn’t do it for you. He deserved a second chance.”

Someone did, out of that entire mess. Maybe Foggy didn’t, maybe Matt didn’t. But Max? Max deserved the best life Foggy could give him. Frank nodded and then he was leaving, The Punisher walking out of Foggy’s apartment after eating Chinese and checking up on his dog.

What the fuck was his life?

Max followed Frank out of the living room and Foggy stayed where he was, listening to his front door open and shut. A minute later, Max came back alone, tail wagging.

“Oh, now you love me,” Foggy muttered, then gave Max the very last dumpling because if there was one thing Foggy always was, it was a sucker.


	2. Chapter 2

Foggy had convinced himself that was the last of it because Foggy was good at denial, to the detriment of his own mental health. No matter how often it didn’t work, Foggy was convinced that if he just pretended his life wasn’t a clusterfuck, a clusterfuck it would not be.

Frank Castle came to visit once and never would he again. Foggy didn’t even bother to upgrade the locks on his door.

So really, he reflected as he watched Frank kneel down to greet a happy Max, this was probably all his own damn fault. Foggy thought about putting his foot down, telling Frank calmly and firmly to leave and never darken his doorway again but Foggy smelled chicken wings.

There was a bag on the table.

“Are those chicken wings?” he asked and Frank glanced over his shoulder at it.

“Yeah, I owed you dinner.”

Foggy pursed his lips. Frank was a notorious killer, wanted in several states. Dangerous and unstable. If Foggy allowed this to continue, only bad things could happen. Getting disbarred would be the nicest outcome, death by giant bullets far more likely. And it might not even be Frank who used those bullets on him. There were ninjas in Hell’s Kitchen for godssake, who knew what kind of monsters trailed in Frank’s wake?

But chicken wings.

“I’m going to go change,” he decided, “Can you give Max one of his treats? They’re on the kitchen counter. He only gets one.”

The routine of getting out of his suit didn’t take much thought, leaving Foggy to wonder at what he was playing at. Dinner, twice, with the Punisher? What would his mother say? What would the police say and would they have to shout it over a bullhorn while Foggy was being held hostage with a gun to his temple?

Oh, to hell with it. Lunch had been a hastily eaten hotdog because the new guy at HC&B didn’t get a lot of free time.

When he padded back into the living room, there was a beer on the table for him while Frank had found Max’s chew rope and was currently playing tug of war.

“Was there anything but beer in my fridge?” he asked, even as he picked up the beer and drank.

“There was milk.”

Foggy grimaced.

“Was it still good?”

“No.”

He flopped onto the couch and made a face.

“I keep telling myself to sign up for one of those grocery delivery things. You know, they give you food to cook yourself, like pan seared salmon, basking in lemon sauce, so easy anybody can do it at home!”

He put his beer down.

“I haven’t though. Filling out a form on the internet just seems like a whole lot of work just to get food that I can’t instantly eat. I can just order a pizza on the phone and it comes to me already cooked, melty and delicious.”

Either Frank was ignoring him or... well, it was pretty obvious Frank was ignoring him.

“Hey, quick question.”

He waited patiently until Frank actually looked at him.

“So, do I need to invest in my apartment’s security? Because it seems like you break in pretty easily.”

Frank shook his head.

“No, it’s a good building. It’s a nice place.”

It seemed sincere and Foggy looked around, tried to see the apartment through Frank’s eyes. The walls were mostly bare, just a few photos his mother had put up the first time she had visited. All the furniture was brand new because he had walked into a furniture store and bought the first set he’d seen because it hadn’t seemed to matter.

When he first got Max, having knick knacks and bits and bobs in easy reach of doggy teeth had seemed like a bad idea, so he had tossed a few boxes of things he hadn’t yet unpacked. All in all, the whole apartment seemed a bit hollow, spots of life showing only in Max’s toys strewed around the rooms.

I should probably decorate at some point, Foggy thought vaguely but it just seemed like a lot of effort. Frank went back to tugging at the rope, Max yipping excitedly. Foggy thought about turning on the tv but instead made himself get up to turn on his stereo, Pink rocking tones filling the air. Better. Pink was always there for him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Frank still for a moment before continuing to play with Max.

“Oh, don’t you judge me,” Foggy said, pointing an accusing finger at him. “P!nk, and I pronounce it with the exclamation mark just so you know, speaks to me on a personal level. When I got my new job, I tried listening to jazz because that seemed like the thing a high-powered lawyer would do. It sucked.”

And it had, he and Max had sat on the couch as the strains of some jazz cd Foggy had picked up in the bargain bin had filled the room. It had been depressing. Foggy didn’t need depressing music as the soundtrack of his life. His life was the depressing soundtrack to his life. He had tossed the cd into the recycle bin and taken Max out for a walk, the hue and hubbub of New York erasing the memory of terrible music out of his ears.

He sat back down, pulling the bag over to rummage through it. Two to-go containers filled to the brim of chicken wings. Sweet.

“You eat yet?” he asked, mouth full and Frank shook his head.

“Well, come on and eat then.”

Frank tossed the rope down the hall, Max skittering after it while Frank went to go wash his hands. Hygienic. That was nice. For some reason, whenever Foggy thought about where Frank might be lying low, he imagined a dirty cave, surrounded by bushes. Maybe the park? Living wild, off the land. Trapping gophers and rats and cooking them over an open fire.

It was far more likely Frank just had some shithole apartment, but the imagery was in his head. It was just so manly.

Frank came back, sat down on the couch and they ate together and it said a lot about Foggy’s life that it was nice to have somebody to eat with. He hadn’t had much people over to his new place. Marci, so she could mock his new furniture, his parents, so they could tell him how proud they were.

Foggy pretty much went to work, came home, slept, then started it all over again. He told himself it was because of the new job, that once things calmed down and he was established, his personal life would pick up again. He’d make friends, go on outings, find somebody else to love.

Meanwhile, he had Max.

And Frank, apparently.

“So, I feel like I should ask you about your day but I’m afraid it might involve blood.”

“Just following some leads,” Frank said, vague and a little unfocused. He was eating the chicken wings as methodically as he had eaten the Chinese food last time but something was off. More remote.

He went like that sometimes, Foggy remembered. Karen usually brought him back but Karen wasn’t here.

“We saw a dog on the way home,” Foggy said and Frank turned to look at him. “I stood to the side and had Max sit next to me. Shortened the leash, you know, just in case. He was tense and he kept watching the dog but he didn’t move from his spot. I was proud of him.”

Frank nodded.

“Yeah, I remember you said he was afraid of other dogs.”

“Yup, it’s why we go back to the training facility on Saturdays. They have other dogs there, well trained dogs that Max can mingle with. Plus he gets to run around, they have more space there.”

It should have been strange, being on the other end of that intense stare, sitting on his couch and talking about his dog. But it wasn’t. Foggy was good at talking, at keeping up a one-sided conversation. Usually he was stuck talking to Max and Frank wasn’t really that different.

So Foggy kept up the flow of words, light and steady and Frank’s eyes lost that hazy look. Like he was finally just sitting in a living room eating chicken wings instead of in a nightmare inside his head. That was all Foggy wanted.

He watched as Frank picked up another wing, stripping the skin and flesh with economical movements and then handing it over to Max. The bones were dropped back into the container, safely away from Max’s inquisitive muzzle. He knew he could say something about how Frank shouldn’t shorten his own meal just to feed Max, that Max had his own dog bowl of kibble waiting for him and honestly the last time Max had gone to the vet, the vet had made noises about his weight.

But Foggy didn’t say a word. A chicken wing or two wouldn’t make any difference in the scheme of things. Frank needed more than food in his belly. He needed a chance to be kind.

This time he got off his lazy ass and helped clean up the detritus of their meal, wrapping the bones up in a trash bag and putting it up on the counter. At Frank’s curious look, he explained,

“I’ll just toss these down the trash chute. Don’t want to risk Max getting into them. He’s dug the trash for food, once or twice.”

Max was better now but in the beginning hadn’t trusted that Foggy would get him the food he needed, had still had the tendency to go foraging. Foggy had hated that time, needing to crate him whenever he left him alone. No matter how often the trainer assured him that locking that crate door was good for him, Foggy had felt horribly guilty.

Fortunately, the trash had been left undisturbed for months now and Foggy had various kong toys hidden around his apartment. Had to keep his puppy happy.

“I’ll take it out,” Frank said and Foggy looked over in surprise although he wasn’t sure why.

“Oh, you’re leaving?” he asked, although it was obvious now looking at Frank’s body language. He was gearing up, Foggy could see the tension forming in his muscles, like he was putting on body armor without even changing his clothes.

Foggy wondered if that was how it felt for Matt and then quickly squashed the thought. Foggy squashed as many thoughts as he could when it came to Matt. Some always managed to get through, though.

“Yeah, got stuff to do.”

Foggy couldn’t squash the wince those words brought out. Frank was studying him, as if waiting for Foggy to get upset or protest. Part of Foggy wanted to get upset because this was probably murder they were talking about. Part of Foggy just felt empty about the whole thing.

In the end, the only thing Foggy said was,

“Thanks for the chicken.”

*

Later that night when Foggy was readying himself for bed, he found himself staring into his bathroom mirror. His hair was fabulous because he had taken the advice of that stylist to heart, he hadn’t gained much weight but hadn’t lost any either so he figured that was a draw.

He wasn’t the man he had been when he had last seen Matt.

Now, he asked his appearance, does this make me a hypocrite or does this mean I’m growing as a person? And if I am growing, which direction am I growing in?

In the end, he turned off the light and shuffled off to sleep, shoving Max over because he always hogged the bed, the crate at the foot of the bed empty like it was every night.

Denial, Foggy thought right before he shut his eyes to sleep.

If I pretend my life isn’t a clusterfuck, then it won’t be.

He slept like a baby, dreaming about beer and chicken wings.


	3. Chapter 3

There was no pattern to when Frank would visit, at least none that Foggy could discern. 

Sometimes Frank was there when he came home, sometimes Foggy would be somewhere in his apartment when he’d hear his door unlock and Max would go running to greet him. If Frank didn’t bring food, Foggy would get on the phone for takeout even if he had already eaten.

If Max’s other daddy was kind enough to keep up visitation then the least Foggy could do was feed him.

Some days he didn’t talk much so Foggy talked for the both of them. Sometimes he held a conversation with Foggy, stupid things mostly. They talked a lot about what was best for Max, which shows Foggy had gotten invested in only to have them get cancelled, the woman on the second floor who always ended up with Foggy’s mail in her mailbox.

They never talked about what Frank did outside of the apartment.

It wasn’t as hard as Foggy knew it could be. This balance, here? Had been impossible with Matt. Foggy hadn’t realized it at first, thought the house of cards they had built from the wreckage of Matt’s secrets could actually hold steady. It wasn’t until it had all fallen apart that Foggy had come to see just how flimsy their attempts at compromise had been.

Frank didn’t lie, Frank didn’t tell the truth. Frank just showed up, showered Max with love and ate whatever meal Foggy put in front of him.

Maybe this was what marriage was like, for a 1950’s housewife.

Now, Foggy wasn’t much of a cook but he had plenty of takeout numbers programed into his phone and he was reasonably certain he would rock a frilly apron and high heels.

Course if Foggy was the wife, Frank probably wouldn’t be doing so much of the cleaning. Foggy was on his couch again, watching Frank putter around his living room, cleaning up the remnants of their meal. Foggy didn’t know if it was a Frank thing or a military thing but Frank didn’t like to leave a mess and sometimes when Foggy came home to an empty apartment it was to find his bed made with military precision.

It was a little weird.

Frank was tossing out the trash when Foggy’s phone buzzed. Another text from Marci. Probably wanted to meet for drinks. She’d been bothering him lately, coming by his office and trying to bully him into going out. Had some weird idea that he’d become some sort of hermit.

He put his phone down without answering it. He’d just see her tomorrow anyway.

“He took your spot on the sofa,” Foggy told Frank helpfully when he came back. Sure enough, Max was curled on the spot Frank had vacated.

“He steals the warmth. Does it to me all the time on the bed.”

Frank stared down at him and Max just curled up a little tighter, tail wagging frantically.

“Are you strong enough to move him?” Foggy intoned, “Not physical strength, my good man. Spiritual. Willpower. Can you look into his limpid brown eyes and shift him from his preferred spot?”

There was a moment of silence as Frank stared down at Max and Max gazed sweetly up into Frank’s eyes.

“No,” Frank said and Foggy laughed.

“Yeah, I can never move him either. I just feel so guilty.”

With a sigh, Frank sat down next to Foggy since Max was determined to take the other end of the couch. Foggy shifted a bit to give him room and it was only when Frank was comfortable that it occurred to him that physically, this was the closest they had ever been.

All these weeks, Max tended to be between them in one way or another.

Foggy held up the remote.

“I got Netflix,” he said, “And I’ve noticed some new MST3K on there.”

“Now see, I understood all those letters and that number individually but I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Ooh, Frank, are you telling me you’ve never watched MST3K? You are in for a treat.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“Are you doubting my taste?”

“No. Because I know you have shit taste. Look at your furniture.”

“Why does everybody shit on my furniture?” Foggy demanded, twisting to face him, “I just bought the set, it was on sale, it had all the pieces I needed.”

Frank actually started to chuckle and Foggy was a bit charmed with the way it made his eyes crinkle.

“It’s not that bad,” he insisted, Frank just shaking his head, “It’s got character.”

“It’s got paisley.”

“Now you’re just being mean.”

He clicked on Netflix, scrolled to the movies he had seen a few nights ago alone but hadn’t rustled up the attention span to watch.

“Oh, this one. You are incredibly lucky that you are here with me because I have watched Space Mutiny enough that I have actually figured out the plot.”

“Shouldn’t I figure out the plot just by watching the movie?”

“You clearly do not understand the magic that is MST3K.”

And so they settled in for the wonders of Space Mutiny, Frank a warm solid bulk to his left and as the movie went on, Max slowly stretched his way across both their laps.

*

Sunday, he went to visit his parents. He didn’t want to and felt insanely guilty about it but it seemed such a hassle. But he’d begged off the last few invitations and knew his mother wouldn’t take another excuse. Best to get it out of the way, drop hints in person that work was too hectic for him to visit again in a while.

He didn’t bring Max because it wasn’t unusual for random family members to show up unannounced and new people were always stressors. Safer for everybody if Max just stayed home but Foggy missed him even on the short trip. His left hand felt empty not holding the leash and he found his fingers clenching and unclenching as he walked down the sidewalk.

“You look like you lost weight,” was the first thing his mother said when he walked through the door.

“That’s perjury.”

His mother clucked and came over, wiping her hands on her apron before squishing his cheeks.

“Hmm. Maybe not the weight,” she conceded, “But you still look terrible.”

“This is why I come home,” Foggy said to no one in particular. “To improve my self-esteem.”

“My poor boy. They’re working you so hard at that new firm! You never call, I text you using my tiny phone screen and you know how hard that is for me and you don’t even text back!”

“Ma... ”

“Leave the boy alone,” his dad said from the doorway, “Just put some lasagna in him. Make you both feel better.”

His mom pressed a kiss to his cheek and then Foggy headed dutifully to his father to get a hug. The kitchen smelled good, tomato sauce and spices and Foggy felt a pang.

He had been avoiding his parents’ house as best he could since the shit show of the Castle trial because lying to his parents was easier on the phone or by text. His parents hadn’t really understood what had happened to Nelson & Murdock and Foggy hadn’t had the heart to explain. Far as they knew, he and Matt had been offered better jobs and chosen to shutter their law firm for better opportunities.

They also thought he and Matt were still best friends.

“You tell Matt he needs to visit,” his mom was saying as she set a heaping plate before him, still steaming, “We haven’t seen him in months. I know you say he’s busy but surely he can make time for us.”

“Maybe next time,” he lied, before taking a big forkful of lasagna and shoving it into his mouth, “Mmm, so good! Now what’s this I hear about Cousin Sarah getting pregnant again?”

As his mom launched into a long winded tale about the trial and tribulations of Cousin Sarah, Foggy just kept eating. He could only hope the lasagna filled the empty hollow inside him where Nelson & Murdock used to reside. 

It was pretty good lasagna so it was worth a shot.

*

Getting home to Max was a relief.

Foggy could feel the tension melt off him as soon as he shut his door behind him, keeping the rest of the world at bay. His parents had been disappointed but understanding when he had told them it would be a while until he came home again. The disappointment he could hack; it was the understanding that killed him.

“But none of that with you, huh, bud?” Foggy greeted Max, who was nosing the plastic bag swinging from Foggy’s hand with interest. Left over lasagna his mother had insisted he take home and he lifted the bag high.

“No,” he said firmly and Max instantly subsided, sitting down on his haunches with his tongue lolling. It was so easy with Max, who loved and trusted Foggy wholeheartedly.

“Let me put this away and then I’ll take you for a walk.”

He took Max around the block, giving him a little more lead on his leash. There weren’t that many people about and Foggy had rarely come across another dog at this time of night. Routine was good for Max so he and Foggy had quickly learned the circadian rhythm of their neighborhood, when it was busy, when it wasn’t, when they were more likely to come across trouble.

Every day of the week had it’s own sweet spot, a quiet little bubble of time when Foggy could give Max just a little bit more freedom. They stayed out a little longer than usual, just soaking up the city at night before finally heading home.

He took a quick shower and was just trying to figure out if he should just go to bed early when Max, who had been watching Foggy comb his hair in front of the bathroom mirror suddenly trotted down the hall, tail wagging.

Sticking his head out the door into the hall, Foggy could hear someone at the front door but it seemed to be taking longer than usual. Frank was pretty adept at breaking into Foggy’s place by this point so usually the only head’s up Foggy got was Max perking up.

Curious, he headed for the door, reaching it just as it swung open.

“Jesus Christ!”

Frank stumbled in, a little bloody and a little bruised and Foggy caught him without thinking, hauling him inside and shutting the door, closing the lock with a click.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Frank was saying and he smelled like smoke and grime. He sounded exhausted and Foggy was holding up most of his weight and considering Frank was made of solid muscle, there was quite a lot of it. They swayed precariously for a moment before Foggy managed to hold them steady.

At their feet, Max began to whine and paw at the floor.

“Max,” Foggy said sharply, “Go to the room.”

Max only hesitated for a moment before moving off down the hall and into the bedroom. He’d go into his kennel and stay put until Foggy got him.

“You have blood on you,” Foggy said at Frank’s inquisitive look, “I don’t want him to get upset.”

Foggy dragged him to the bathroom, manhandling him to sit on the toilet. Frank slumped there, didn’t make a word of protest, just breathing deep like he was centering himself. Pushing through his exhaustion and at any other time Foggy would be impressed at the display of stamina. Frank was already looking better, as if just by being somewhere safe was enough to make a difference.

Foggy grabbed a hand towel and ran it under the sink, wringing it out before wiping at Frank’s face, the blood and dirt staining the fabric immediately.

“Most of it isn’t mine,” Frank said like being covered in somebody else’s blood was a-ok.

“But some of it is,” Foggy retorted, dabbing a little viciously at a cut near his temple. Frank winced and Foggy instantly went a little gentler. “You hurt anywhere else?”

Frank shook his head then paused, holding up his hands. His knuckles were scraped but not actively bleeding. Foggy clucked over them but didn’t press the towel to them. He frowned, studying Frank, taking in the mess that he was. His little hand towel wasn’t going to cut it.

“You’re filthy.”

“Yeah.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Been better.”

“Can you shower without falling and breaking your neck? It’s just I don’t think I can fit your body down the trash chute and it seems rude to tip your corpse out the window.”

Frank chuffed out a laugh and tilted his head back against the wall, wry little smile on his face. His eyes were crinkling again and he was ridiculous, cut, bruised, bloody and dirty and smiling at Foggy like it was nothing.

“I can shower, hot shot. Don’t worry about it.”

Foggy studied him for a few more moments before nodding.

“Alright, don’t lock the door. I’ll be back with some clothes for you. Make sure to wash out all your cuts and scrapes.”

Foggy didn’t leave until Frank stood up and proved himself steady on his feet. Then Foggy went into the bedroom, Max sticking his head out of his kennel as soon as Foggy entered.

“Good boy,” Foggy told him, heading for his dresser, “You can come out now. Out.”

As Max clamored out, Foggy pulled out a pair of sweats and an old college tee. The underwear stumped him for a moment before he decided Frank was just going to have to go commando. They weren’t close enough to share underwear. Foggy wasn’t sure he’d ever reach that level with intimacy with anybody.

Taking his bundle of clothes, Max on his heels, Foggy went back to the bathroom. The shower was already running and when he opened the door, it was to a blast of steam. He could see the blurry image of Frank behind the curtain, the breadth of his shoulders tapering down to his-

He put the clothes on the counter next to the sink and beat a hasty retreat.

*

The reheated lasagna was cooling on the counter when Frank came padding into the kitchen, scrubbing a towel over his head. He looked better, more alert, like the warm shower had rejuvenated him.

“What is even the point of that?” Foggy asked, gesturing with his hand when Frank turned to him. “You have no hair. There is nothing to dry there.”

“Sorry I don’t have your long flowing hair, Goldilocks. What’s this?”

He had found the plate of food and was already tugging it closer, picking up the fork Foggy had placed nearby.

“My hair is beautiful. That, asshole, is my mom’s lasagna that I was planning on having for lunch tomorrow. But go ahead and eat it.”

He didn’t know why he bothered to say it, Frank was already digging in. He was still standing at the counter, hunched over the plate, his skin flushed from his shower, wearing Foggy’s clothes. 

Foggy swallowed hard, busying himself with pouring apple juice into a cup and sliding it over to Frank.

“No beer for people who bleed in my apartment,” he said cheerfully when Frank made a face.

“What? Trying to protect your shitty couch?”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

Frank snorted, shoveled another forkful in his mouth.

“Man, this is really good lasagna. Your mom’s, you said?”

“Yeah, I went over for dinner today.”

“Why can’t you cook like this?”

“I can,” Foggy admitted, scratching at his nose, “Or at least I used to. Haven’t cooked in so long, is it like riding a bike?”

“Something you never forget? Hell if I know, all I ever managed was barbecue. Throw raw meat on fire, eat when cooked.”

They fell silent as Frank fell to eating, clearly hungry.

His knuckles still looked red and angry and the sight of them reminded Foggy. He began to rummage through his kitchen cabinets because he knew he had a vague memory of shoving it away when he had moved in.

He was ducking down and checking the bottom cabinets when Frank asked,

“What are you looking for?”

“A ha!”

The first aid kit was something he had bought after the night he had found Matt bleeding out on his apartment floor. He had spent one late night (Matt hadn’t been answering his phone and Foggy knew exactly what he was out doing) feverishly googling everything he could about first aid. Just in case.

He held it up over his head so Frank could see it before standing up. Frank’s plate was nearly clean and he was currently putting one last lasagna laden fork into his mouth.

“Did you want more lasagna? Or shall we clean up your injuries?”

Frank snorted.

“These aren’t injuries.”

“Okay, tough guy. Your little boo-boos. Either way, we’re bandaging them up.”

Frank rolled his eyes but followed him into the living room, collapsing on his much maligned couch in such a way that suggested that Frank was still feeling a little punchy. Foggy sat next to him, opening up his first aid kit and putting it on the table before getting to work.

There was one cut above Frank’s ear that needed a butterfly bandage but for the most part, Frank had been right. Most of the cuts were already scabbed over and small enough not to need any band-aids. Foggy smeared a little antibiotic cream on them mostly just to feel like he was doing something.

Frank’s knuckles were by far the worst of it, and he dabbed the cream on each scrape before cracking open the box of H-shaped bandages. He placed them as carefully as he could, trying to recall any of the youtube vids he had binged on. He had watched so many that they all tended to blur in his mind’s eye. He had never used any of his new knowledge for Matt.

He just focused on placing the last bandage, running his thumb along the edge to make sure it was adhered.

“There. I may not be a registered nurse but I’m pretty sure this is the best you’re going to get.”

He began to pull away but was stopped by Frank wrapping his hand around Foggy’s wrist. Foggy could feel the callouses, the rough patches of skin, his warmth. Frank always seemed to radiate heat.

“Hey,” said Frank and his voice could be really gentle sometimes. “Thanks, for all this.”

The was a question on the tip of his tongue and he knew he shouldn’t ask it. That if he did, things would change. Asking would change the rules, destroy the balance - the balance he had created to mimic what he hadn’t given Matt. But Frank wasn’t Matt and Foggy wasn’t the same man he had been when he’d been friends with Matt.

Time to grow, in one direction or another. He still wasn’t sure if he was moving towards the light or not.

He took a deep breath, turned to busy himself by packing way the first aid kit.

“All the bad guys taken care of?” he asked casually and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the glittering edges of Frank’s shark smile.

“Oh, yeah.”


	4. Chapter 4

Marci was studying him over the fancy menu because she had dragged him out to lunch today and he hadn’t had Max with him. Jeri let him bring Max in a few days a week, not out of the kindness of her heart, which was formed out of pure prehistoric barracuda, but because “animal-lover” tended to sell well with the public.

No Max meant he couldn’t insist on cheap eating, sitting out on the sidewalk so Max didn’t break any health codes. That meant he was in a restaurant with actual cloth napkins and crystal wineglass on the table. For lunch. It also meant he’d be the one footing the bill.

She had showed up in his office and dragged him out of there bodily, insisting they hadn’t spent any quality time together for a while. While it was true, he also knew she had to have some sort of ulterior motive. Marci tended to move on multiple planes.

“I’m getting the roasted duck with spring salad,” he announced, mostly in an attempt to divert whatever the look in her eye meant. She made a face.

“Really? You hate duck.”

“No, not really. Sounds fancy though. Probably just get the steak. You?”

“Mmm.”

“You’re getting the duck, aren’t you?”

She put her menu down, not bothering to answer him.

“It’s been a while, Foggy-Bear, you haven’t been answering my texts,” she said instead, “I’m beginning to feel like we’re strangers. Which is shitty of you, considering I got you this job.”

He winced.

“Hey, it’s not my fault. I’m the new guy. You know they’ve got me doing the scut work.”

“Too busy to take two seconds to answer a text?”

“What is this, a cross-examination? You know I’m no good at texts.”

“Phone calls then, because I’ve call you a few times and you’ve never answered.”

He groaned, slumping back in his uncomfortable chair and letting his head fall back.

“Look, after work I’m just tired, that’s all. But things are getting better, I’m getting the rhythm, you know nothing keeps me down for long.”

“Oh good,” she said, so sweetly he knew he had walked into a trap. “Then you can come out with me tonight. Get out of your apartment. Get drunk, maybe get laid, just not with me.”

“Wow, sounds like a fabulous time. However, Max-”

“Max is doing just fine.” 

Her voice was sharp and one of their neighbors at the table next door glanced their way. She sucked in a deep breath, folding her hands on the table and Foggy began to feel like maybe he was in the middle of some sort of intervention. He glanced over his shoulder uneasily, his parents and grandmother weren’t going to pop out, were they?

She reached across the table, put one hand on his.

“Foggy, I hate you for making me say these words out loud. I’m worried about you.” 

He pulled his hand away.

“What? Why? Everything is fine, just because I don’t go out partying every night-”

“You don’t go out any night. You work, you go home, you work some more. You’re always alone. I can’t believe I’m saying this, god knows in law school I told you you needed to apply yourself more, but Foggy. You can’t keep going like this.”

“I’m not-”

He broke off abruptly. I’m not alone, he wanted to say but how could he? How could he explain Frank? If Marci so much as suspected, she’d call the police in a heartbeat and think she was doing the right thing. Hell, she’d probably be kind enough to set it up so Foggy wouldn’t get busted for harboring a fugitive.

Frank Castle is my friend, Foggy thought in the safety of his own mind and tasted the truth of his words. Marci would never understand, could never understand because this secret was something Foggy would never tell.

Despite various hiccups and bumps in the road, Foggy was good at keeping this particular type of secret. That was something even Matt could attest to. He took a deep breath.

“Marci, I get it, really I do. But I swear, I am fine. I really am just concentrating on my work. My life sorta imploded, remember? And now I’m putting back the pieces and I am completely okay.”

“You haven’t been okay since Murdock threw you under a bus.”

“Don’t talk about Matt,” he said sharply because Matt was off limits and she knew it. They had never spoken about Matt and he wanted to keep it that way. He hadn’t spoken about Matt to anyone and that was how he wanted it.

Her lips thinned and he could tell she was unhappy.

“Pretending things didn’t happen isn’t healthy.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you in the middle of a restaurant.”

“I have tried to have this conversation with you anywhere else. You have avoided me for weeks.”

“I’ve been busy.”

Foggy could hear the edge in his own voice and she was about to respond when their waiter materialized next to their table like one of those ninjas Metro-General swore up and down didn’t exist. Foggy could have kissed him.

They gave him their orders and yes, Marci did order the duck with an extra bit of viciousness in her voice. When the waiter left, Foggy said very calmly,

“I appreciate your concern, Marci, but I don’t need it. Now, let’s talk about anything else.”

She started to interrupt and he held up a hand.

“Anything else, or I walk out of this place.”

She settled back in her chair and he made himself face her head on even though he didn’t want to. The concern on her face pulled at his skin but he shoved it back. He was fine. She was overreacting. She just didn’t have the whole picture.

“Fine,” she said and her voice had that tone that meant she was unhappy but willing to let it go, at least for a while. He knew that tone from law school. Back when they were dating, she used it whenever he had run off to hang out with Matt.

The rest of lunch was strained and Foggy had never been so happy to rush back to work, hiding in his office and burying himself in paperwork. He found himself constantly reaching down to his side, where Max sat when he was in the office with him. No Max today though, no soft doggy head to pat, no wet nose to press against the palm of his hand. Just work to do.

When quitting time finally came, he gathered up his things and headed for the elevator. This whole shitty day was about to be over and he was desperate to go home. In the lobby, right as he was going out the door, he heard her laugh and a quick glance over his shoulder showed Marci stepping off the elevator, talking to one of the other lawyers. Roger? Something like that, Foggy had a vague memory of meeting him.

He ducked out before she saw him and headed home, where he took Max for a walk, ordered takeout and ate dinner in front of the television. Frank didn’t show up but that was okay.

There was nothing wrong with his life.

He was fine.

*

Two days of ducking Marci later, Foggy trudged his way into his apartment, later than usual. Of course, there had been some last minute paperwork he had been handed that absolutely needed to be done by tonight and of course, it fell to the new guy to do it.

When he stepped into his apartment, apologizing profusely to Max, Frank appeared at the end of the hall. Foggy grinned at the sight of him, feeling the weight of the day slip off his shoulders. See? He wasn’t alone.

“You just get in? Later than usual.”

“Yeah, last minute crap that had to get done. You?”

“About a minute ago, I brought sandwiches.”

“Great! Let me take Max out real quick and then I can eat because I am starving.”

He reached for Max’s harness and leash, Max already seated as his feet ready to go, nearly vibrating with excitement.

“I’ll go with you.”

Foggy turned to stare at Frank.

“With me?”

“Yeah, you taking him around the block right?”

“Well, yeah. But. Outside.”

When Frank just squinted at him, Foggy clarified,

“In public. You’re a wanted man, do you not remember this?”

“It’ll be fine,” Frank told him, pulling his baseball cap out of his jacket and putting it on. “Nobody’s going to recognize me.”

“Is that a magic baseball cap? Because that is the only way I see this working.”

“It’ll be fine, hot shot. I’ve been walking through your neighborhood for months now, nobody’s said a thing. Now c’mon, no time to argue, Max needs to go out.”

Frank’s jaw took on that stubborn line and Foggy threw up his hands because the times Frank had gotten stubborn, Foggy had never even come close to winning.

“Ugh, fine. But you have to pick up the poop. And if we get arrested, I’m going to say you threatened me.”

*

“This is such bullshit,” Foggy marveled as they strolled the streets, passing by oblivious pedestrians.

“It’s New York,” Frank said, “Nobody gives a shit.”

Foggy couldn’t help but laugh. It felt wild and freeing, doing this with Frank. He was walking the streets of New York by the side of a notorious vigilante and nobody looked at them twice. It was insane. Max was equally thrilled, trotting beside them with his head held high and tongue lolling out.

“So you just wander the streets in a hat and nobody recognizes you. So that’s how you get around.”

“What did you think I did? Teleport to your apartment?”

“I don’t know, skulk in the shadow like some sort of vampire? Scurry from alleyway to alleyway? Weirdo stuff.”

Frank laughed, shaking his head.

“You got an imagination on you, that’s for sure.”

They meandered along, letting Max sniff his way down the sidewalk, investigating the same street he had checked out that morning like it was undiscovered country.

He and Matt had tried walking like this, being chummy and happy and it had all been a lie. Foggy took a moment to absorb the fact that it was the guy without the mask that he could walk in public with without qualm. He remembered pressing a handkerchief to the back of Matt’s neck to soak up the blood they never talked about. He remembered pressing butterfly bandages to the cut on Frank’s head.

He remembered how one act made him furious and the other made him feel useful.

Fuck, these were really deep thoughts while he was out waiting for his dog to poop.

“What kind of sandwiches did you get?” he asked Frank and if Frank wondered at the abrupt question, he didn’t say.

“Pastrami.”

“Oh nice, that’s my favorite.”

“Yeah, I remembered.”

Finally, Max began to circle around in doggy tradition and Foggy handed Frank the poop bag with a flourish.

“All yours, good sir.”

“Immature,” was all Frank said but he bent down to pick up the poop when Max was done.

*

That night, Frank crashed out on his couch because maybe it was ugly but it sure as hell was comfortable, Foggy picked up his phone and scrolled to Matt’s number. He still had him programmed in, hope springing eternal and all that jazz. His thumb hovered over the text button. Maybe he could just send one message, see how Matt was doing.

He thought about Frank, sleeping in his living room. He thought about the last time he had seen Matt, in the wreckage of their law firm. Matt had been so distant and Foggy had followed suit, like if he just pretended it didn’t hurt, it wouldn’t.

_You haven’t been okay since Murdock threw you under a bus._

In the end, he just checked to make sure his alarm was set and then went to bed.

*

Saturday, he hailed a taxi and he and Max made their way to the dog rehab center.

Colin, his primary trainer, saw him instantly, jogging up and Foggy was hit all over again at what a hot slab of beef Colin was. Pure California muscle, tanned and beautiful and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of.

Foggy just looked though. It was just really nice to look.

“Fog!” Colin said, cheerfully, stretching one hand down for Max to nose at. “Glad you could make it!”

That’s what he said every Saturday, even though Foggy hadn’t missed a single one since Max had graduated their training course. Max loved coming here and in the yard area, Foggy could let him off his leash so he could run around. A little taste of freedom after being cooped up during the week, stuck in buildings and on leashes.

“Glad to be here,” Foggy said, because they had a script and he was going to follow it.

“How’s Max? He been good, any problems?”

“He’s great. We’ve gone past a few dogs during walks and he’s listened to every command. Hasn’t made a move towards them.”

“That’s awesome, man. Good job, Maxy.”

Colin reached into his pocket, presented a treat to Max who took it eagerly.

“Shall we go to the yard?” Colin asked and Foggy nodded and together they made their way out to the grassy area. “You’re the first one here, so Max will have free run of the place, at least for a little while.”

Foggy bent down to unhook Max’s leash, giving him one good head scratch before shooing him off.

“Go on,” he said, “Run around, have fun.”

Permission granted, Max took off like a shot, sniffing his way across the grass like a dog on a mission. His mission would be to pee on everything, Foggy knew. He watched Max for a few moments before he realized Colin hadn’t left.

That wasn’t in the script; Colin usually left Foggy and Max to their own devices at this point. He glanced over at him to find Colin studying him and when Colin noticed, Colin looked away flushing.

“So, uh, how have you been? I’m always asking about Max and not about you.”

Foggy shrugged.

“I’m good, same old, same old, you know? No major changes with me.”

Colin nodded, rocking back on his heels and Foggy was just trying to figure out what Colin wanted, when Nancy, the other trainer, called to Colin from the doorway.

“Oh, man, gotta go. You two have fun, okay?”

Colin reached out, squeezed Foggy’s upper arm once and then was gone, jogging back to where Nancy waited. After watching him go inside, Foggy reached into his bag and pulled out a tennis ball, whistling once to get Max’s attention. Max immediately came loping back towards him, eyes trained on the ball in Foggy’s hand.

“All right, boy,” Foggy said, “Go get it!”

He threw the ball and Max was off like a shot, so excited he fumbled for a bit before gaining his legs and springing after it. He brought it back to Foggy and Foggy took it, slobber and all and lobbed it again. Then again. And again.

The problem with all this was that it didn’t take much attention and Foggy found his thoughts wandering. Maybe he should call Matt or text him, just to see how he was doing.Why couldn’t Matt have a facebook Foggy could creep on like a normal person?

The stuff they had fought about, it seemed a lifetime ago. It had been months since they had last spoken, Foggy didn’t even know where Matt was working. The only reason he knew Matt was even still in New York was because the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen still made the news.

Foggy had found a balance with Frank Castle, surely that meant he could find one with Matt, too. It was a tiny secret hope that Foggy hadn’t really let himself acknowledge but now, now he was thinking about it.

If they had parted angry, this would be easier. But they didn’t leave angry, they had gone their separate ways like mature adults, like they were saying good-bye permanently. What if Foggy reached out and Matt wasn’t interested?

What if Foggy reached out and Matt didn’t care?

Marci said pretending these things hadn’t happened wasn’t healthy and deep down Foggy knew she was right. But he didn’t want to know for a fact that Matt wasn’t hurting as much as Foggy was. In the end, Foggy was a coward.

He spent an hour with Max, chasing him around the grounds, throwing his ball, playing tug of war with one of the rope toys provided by the facility. Max deserved to have a good time, even if Foggy had nothing better to do than beat himself up.

As he was leaving, a little sweaty and ready to go get lunch, Colin waved him down by the door.

“Foggy! You going already?”

“Yeah, we had a good time. Janine was out there with Cupcake so Max got some socialization in.”

Colin paused.

“You okay, man? You look down.”

Foggy forced a smile.

“Just tired, long week at work you know.”

Colin laughed.

“Gotta make that money, huh? But you gotta take the time to enjoy life, you know?”

Colin pulled him in for a hug, which was something he had started to do a few weeks back. He smelled good, all sweat and sunshine and he was wearing a tank top, his skin smooth and warm. It was nice.

*

“Foggy!”

He turned at the sound of his name and there was Karen, one arm raised and waving. She hurried to him and he met her half-way, his grip on Max’s leash tightening. He hadn’t really seen her since that night they closed the tab at Josie’s.

A few random texts here and there but for the most part, radio silence. He liked reading her articles though, always meant to tell her that. He stopped a few feet from her, held up a hand when she made to move closer.

“Just a sec, okay?”

“Oh, that’s right,” she said, “You got a dog.”

She started to reach down and Foggy took a quick step back.

“Wait,” he repeated, leading Max away from the middle of the sidewalk and closer to the buildings. “Best if you let me introduce you first.”

“Oh, of course, sorry!”

“No biggie.”

He had Max sit and then let Karen extend her hand. Max sniffed her fingers and that was that. Karen was smiling at him and she looked great, pink in her cheeks, her eyes bright.

“It’s so good to see you, Foggy,” she said warmly, leaning in to hug him. “It’s been too long!”

“I know, I know. I keep meaning to text you. Love your articles by the way, you got me buying The Bulletin every day. I cut out your articles, putting them in scrapbook, I’m decoupaging the hell out of it.”

She laughed, smacking at his left shoulder and he ignored the phantom pain. His bullet wound was just scar tissue now. Old news.

“I was just talking about how we needed to call you.”

“We?” Foggy snorted, “Like the royal We? Are we royalty now, Miss Page?”

“Me and Matt,” she explained, tucking her hair behind her ear and scooting a bit closer. Matt?

Foggy began to feel the world dropping out beneath his feet. He felt dizzy, lightheaded.

“You and Matt?...” he trailed off and she blushed, ducking her head.

“We got back together,” she admitted, “We worked things out.  I know he screwed over Nelson & Murdock, but Foggy, he had his reasons. He explained it to me.”

Karen leaned forward, voice tipping low.

“I know about how he’s our... mutual friend.”

The words took a second to land and when they did, it was like taking a solid jab to the chest. Rib cage cracking, bruises forming, he couldn’t breathe.

“He told me, Foggy,” Karen said, all soulful eyes, “He came to me and told me the truth.”

She sounded reverent, breathing a secret into his skin. Not his secret, not anymore. Matt had told her, willingly from the sounds of it, not because he was caught bleeding and bloody on the floor. Not because he didn’t have a choice but because he wanted to. Because he trusted her.

Why did people keep having these conversations with him in public? Why couldn’t they lure him to an abandoned alleyway so he could at least brace himself because clearly a terrible talk was coming? Next to him, Max began to whine and tug at his leash.

Shit. 

No.

He took a deep breath, then another. He pushed it down hard, he had to stay calm. Max was sensitive to his emotions, he was going to fuck this up for Max. He had to be in control.

“Wow,” he said, when he felt like he could speak without cracking. “That’s good, right? So good.”

She nodded and the look on her face... seemed she had no problem accepting Matt, vigilanting ways and all. It shone from her, the conviction that Matt was doing the right thing. Foggy’s envy at her confidence was a bitter thing.

“He does so much good.”

“Yeah,” Foggy said hoarsely, grip tightening on Max’s leash, the leather cutting into his skin. “You know, I’ve got to go. I’m meeting up with someone, probably already running late. Come on, Max.”

He stumbled back from her, Max quick to trot after him, eager to move away from whatever strange tension his doggy senses could feel. Karen reached a hand out for him, startled, and it only made Foggy jerk back faster.

“Foggy,” she said concerned, finally starting to twig that maybe this wasn’t the world’s best news. Foggy waved her away.

“I’ve got to go,” he repeated and fled.

Blood was rushing in his ears as he and Max set off across the city. Home was a beacon he was desperate for, he needed to get somewhere safe and secure and he kept moving, only the fact that he had walked this particular path a thousand times keeping in the right direction.

The world was spinning and he thought he was done with that. He thought he had finally landed on solid ground, thought it couldn’t shift on him anymore. He had a new life, a new job. He was a new Foggy, growing in a different direction. 

Why did he feel like he was withering and dying?

It was only seeing the corner store that made him stop his wild careen through the city. Home, home, home was still beating in his blood stream but...

Home, yeah. But he was going to need something else too.

Foggy bought two bottles of scotch, not even the expensive kind that he could afford now. He bought the cheap shit because he knew the taste wasn’t going to matter. Just the alcohol content. Just as long as it burned.

Clutching his bag in one hand, Max’s leash in the other, he took the next few blocks at a more reasonable pace. The clink of the bottles calmed him, the shape of the glass pressed against his chest grounded him.

He could do this.

He made it home, putting his bottles carefully on the counter before bending to take off Max’s harness. Max swiped his tongue across Foggy’s chin and Foggy just kept going down, until he was on his knees, arms wrapped around his dog.

He pressed his face to Max’s warm, soft fur, let it soak up his tears.

Matt had sought Karen out, repaired their relationship, gave her the secrets he had so carefully guarded from Foggy for all those years.

Foggy hadn’t been worth a second chance. Not to Matt.

After making sure Max’s food and water bowls were full, Foggy cracked open the first bottle and started drinking.


	5. Chapter 5

Foggy woke up in his bed.

Which felt weird for a moment because he had the strangest feeling he shouldn’t be in bed. But that didn’t make sense. When Foggy slept, he slept in his bed like a normal person. Why wouldn’t he be in bed?

He had a vague memory of lying on his living room floor and having a pair of black combat boots come into focus.

Shit.

“Afternoon, sunshine.”

He groaned, pressing his face back into his pillow. His head was pounding, his mouth tasted like poison and his bladder was informing him he really needed to pee. And Frank Castle was here to witness it all.

“Tylenol and water next to the bed, might want to knock some back there.”

Foggy groaned again then twisted his head to open one eye in Frank’s direction.

“Max?”

“I took him out this morning and fed him. He’s good.”

Foggy flopped out an arm, reaching rather haphazardly for the Tylenol Frank had promised, almost knocking over the water. Frank reached out, stopped the glass from tipping and handed Foggy the pills. Foggy dragged himself up so he could toss them into his mouth and then grabbed the cup to drink them down.

“What time is it?”

“A little after noon.”

“Oh, god.”

He staggered to his feet and Frank was kind enough to get out of the way, but not kind enough to hide his amusement as Foggy flailed his way to the bathroom. Foggy took great pleasure in shutting the door in his smirking face. 

There, he emptied his bladder, washed his face, brushed his teeth, brushed his teeth for a second time and then made his way back to his bedroom. God, his head hurt and his eyes were scratchy and he didn’t want to think about Matt. He collapsed back on his bed.

He just wanted to go back to sleep but then Frank returned, plate in hand.

“Eat this,” he said, prodding at Foggy to sit up.

“I just want to sleep,” he moaned, knowing he was pathetic but unable to rustle up the concern to care. Caring was for suckers. Look at what it had gotten him so far.

“You can, but eat this first. It’ll help the hangover.”

Foggy lifted his head, eyeing the plate suspiciously.

“What is it?”

“Bacon sandwich.”

“That sounds like a really bad idea.”

“Just eat, hot shot. It’ll help.”

After choking down the bacon sandwich under Frank’s watchful eye, Foggy crawled back on his bed and slept like the dead.

When he woke up again, a quick fumble for his phone told him it was a little past five. Shit. He had slept most of the day away but at least he was feeling a bit better. Better enough to realize just how gross he felt, still wearing the remnants of yesterday’s outfit. Which made him pause as he realized he still had his shirt on but was down to his boxers.

Frank undressed him.

God, his life sucked.

He dragged himself out of bed, rummaged for a clean set of clothes and headed for the bathroom. In the hall, he could hear the tv, that plus the fact that Max hadn’t made an appearance told Foggy that Frank was still there. Of course.

(He didn’t think about Matt.)

He took a long shower, water as hot as he could stand, scrubbing at his skin with his shower poof until he was pink and clean. The warmth of the water helped with the kinks sleeping all day had injected into all his muscles and he mused on the fact that he could afford a fancy spa complete with pretty masseuse. Or handsome masseur. 

Foggy had been more into dudes lately.

But still, fancy spa seemed like something rich people did and Foggy, despite his current salary didn’t feel like a rich person. He felt like a guy who had grown up in Hell’s Kitchen and got paid in produce and peach cobbler.

(He didn’t think about Matt.)

When he stepped out of the shower and towel dried himself off, he took a moment to study himself in the mirror. His eyes weren’t bloodshot, which was nice. His mouth was dry, he had a bit of a lingering headache but other than that he felt pretty good, all things considered. Frank’s bacon sandwich was apparently right on the money.

(He didn’t think about Matt.)

Tossing the damp towel over the shower curtain to dry, he shuffled out the bathroom and down the hall. Just as he entered the living room, Frank was heading towards the kitchen, empty plate in hand.

“Not a word,” Foggy groused and Frank held up his free hand in surrender.

“Wasn’t going to say a thing,” Frank said, “You ready to eat?”

Foggy paused to take stock of his stomach.

“Yeah, but something light. Toast and peanut butter?”

“Alright, hot shot, just sit your ass down. I’ll get you some toast for your tender tummy.”

Foggy flipped him off and Frank flipped him off right back before heading into the kitchen. Max came over, nosed at Foggy until Foggy bent down to cuddle him for a bit.

“I’m sorry, Max,” Foggy said, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “I won’t drink like that again, okay?”

He wasn’t sorry about the lost brain cells, he wasn’t sorry for the liver damage but he was really sorry that Max had to see the whole thing. Maybe this is what it felt like to let down your children.

One last head pat and Foggy went over to the couch and dropped down.

And that’s when it hit him.

Disjointed flashes of memory. Frank hauling him off the ground and getting him back on the couch. Foggy bursting into tears, so drunk as to be nearly incoherent. Foggy - dear, god, Foggy flinging himself into Frank’s arms, a blubbering and sobbing mess.

Frank walked back in with his toast and Foggy turned to him in horror.

“I cried on you,” he breathed and Frank had the decency to look a little embarrassed. “I totally cried all over you.”

Frank made a strange face, reaching up to scratch at his nose.

“I didn’t think you’d remember.”

“I just did. You sat me down right here and then I just, like, my face just exploded in tears!”

Foggy clawed at the air, because the memories were too much, he could see his ugly crying face, Foggy was an ugly crier, he always had been. Some people could cry gracefully, some people could cry manfully, some people could cry and actually look more attractive but Foggy was none of those people.

And Frank! Poor Frank had let Foggy cry on his shoulder, Foggy had practically been on his lap, soaking Frank’s shirt with tears and other bodily fluids. Foggy was a disgusting crier.

“Oh god,” Foggy moaned, covering his face in the here and now, “Just shoot me, I know you own like a million guns, pick the most lethal one and put me out of my misery.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Frank said, clearly only to make Foggy feel better. The joke was on him though; nothing could make Foggy feel better about this.

“What did I say?” Foggy asked, without uncovering his eyes and he heard Frank sigh.

“Honestly, you did talk a lot but you were slurring so much I didn’t understand most of it.”

That was a relief. Right? He hadn’t mentioned Matt, Karen or the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, everybody was safe, everything was fine.

He didn’t feel fine. He felt like crying again but this time he had no alcohol to blame it on. Guess he had to think about Matt, after all.

“You want to talk about it?” Frank asked and it sounded like an honest question.

Foggy dropped his hands to look at him in surprise.

“You want to talk about my emotions? We’re two dudes, I thought dudes didn’t do that.”

“Well, you did cry on me.”

He gave Foggy a wry, half-smile and he made it sound so reasonable, like of course, Foggy cried all over the Punisher and of course, the day after, he should spill his heart to him. Share his problems, get a second opinion.

And Foggy suddenly did want to talk about it, to Frank who had dragged him off the floor and tucked his drunken ass into bed. To finally just say this shit out loud, the stuff he’d been burying down for months now, desperately ignoring how it was eating away at his insides. He wanted to talk to Frank who had showed up uninvited and ended up with a place in Foggy’s life, who loved Max just as much as Foggy did.

All the things he had been bottling inside, refusing to talk about with anybody and he knew if anybody but Frank had been here for this moment, he wouldn’t have wanted to say a word. If his mother were here, if Marci was here, hell if that priest Matt knew was here, Foggy wouldn’t speak. But, somehow, the idea of talking to Frank made it bearable.

But how? Matt’s secret was still Matt’s secret, Foggy would never betray Matt like that, no matter the broken thing their friendship had become. At the same time, Foggy could feel the words bubbling up inside him, eager to be free. He was tired, so tired of carrying this weight around. He wanted to get it out where it couldn’t poison him anymore.

He made a decision.

He would talk around it; Foggy was a lawyer for a reason and one of those reasons was his god-given ability to bullshit.

He took a deep breath.

“Max, go to your room.”

This was going to get emotional, he knew it. He had already made poor Max witness his drunken crying, least he could do now was spare him from seeing it again. He waited until Max was gone before turning to Frank.

“I had a friend, a friend who did, uhm, things. Things I didn’t agree with. My friend thought these things were necessary-”

“This is about Red.”

Foggy gaped at him.

“What? No! What? Who? Red? Red Vines?”

His voice had gone up several octaves and Frank was rolling his eyes.

“Red is Murdock.”

“No. No, you are wrong, how can a blind man be the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, hahaha that makes no sense.”

“Matt Murdock is the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. I know this, you know this.”

“I know nothing, you know nothing-”

“How am I not supposed to recognize the bottom half of his face?” Frank asked, exasperated and that’s when Foggy began to hyperventilate. Frank cursed, joined him on the couch, coaxing him to lean forward and put his head between his knees, rubbing Foggy’s back with one hand.

“Just breathe for me, hot shot.”

So Foggy did, sucking in deep breaths and trying to get his body under control. The Punisher knew who the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was. Foggy never knew exactly what went down between the two of them, knew only the vaguest of broad strokes. He and Matt hadn’t exactly been communicating by then; Foggy just knew Matt had something to do with Frank getting handed over to the police, even if Brett got the credit.

The secret Foggy had been carrying like a stone, it wasn’t even a secret, at least not to Frank.

Eventually, he got his breathing close to normal and he lifted his head, even if he stayed hunched over. Frank didn’t push, didn’t say a word, just stayed next to Foggy and waited. Foggy turned to look at him, Frank Castle, the Punisher, the man at the center of the case that had proved the death knell to the deepest friendship Foggy had ever had. Frank Castle, the man Foggy had created a space for in his lonely life, the man Foggy had managed to accept in a way he hadn’t with Matt.

Foggy felt his face crumple and it was sheer willpower alone that kept him from crying.

“So you know,” he said dully, scrubbing at his eyes. “I’m a hypocrite.”

“You’re not a hypocrite,” Frank scoffed, his hand still rubbing warm circles on Foggy’s back. “How are you a hypocrite?”

“I didn’t help Matt. I didn’t support him, I couldn’t accept the things he did. And now here I am with you! I’ve given you a place to crash, I’ve bandaged your wounds, I have never called the police!”

“That doesn’t make you a hypocrite.”

“Yeah, it does. Everything I refused to do for Matt, I’ve done for you and you never even asked me to! I turned my back on my best friend because I couldn’t accept who he was and honestly, you do much, much worse! And yet, I’m somehow okay with it! And I don’t know why, I don’t know how I got here, I just know I did and it doesn’t feel wrong but I know it should!”

Foggy was on his feet now, shouting now, fists clenched and Frank was just watching him, watching his anger, his rage, his despair. 

“I’m a lawyer, I’m supposed to revere the law, I’m supposed to uphold it. I’m not supposed to be okay eating dinner with a killer!”

Frank got up and left and Foggy felt the bottom of his world drop out for the second time in as many days. He should have kept his mouth shut, should have just kept holding it in. But he didn’t, he opened his big fat mouth and now he was going to lose Frank the exact same way he lost Matt.

The exact same fucking way.

Frank came back, Foggy’s jacket in his hands. He threw it at him and Foggy caught it automatically.

“C’mon, get dressed, get your shoes, we’re going out.”

“What?” Foggy asked, feeling as though he had gotten whiplash. “Where?”

“You’ll see.”

*

_You’ll see_ ended up being a car park a couple of blocks over. Frank made a beeline for a crappy van, pulling out a set of keys and unlocking the door.

“You own a van.”

“Yeah, now get in.”

“You own a windowless van, which is like the creepiest automobile a person can own, you know that right?”

“It gets me where I need to go.”

With a sigh, Foggy got in, unsurprised to see that it was clean, at least on the inside. Frank was very particular about the cleanliness of things, Foggy’s apartment could attest to that. The car started on the first try which did surprised Foggy; it was a really shitty looking creepy van.

Foggy didn’t ask where they were going as Frank pulled into the street, didn’t see much point. He leaned against the passenger window, just watching the streets go by. He was tired, he was hungover, he had a headache. He wished he was back home with Max, who he had let out of his kennel and given him one of his rawhide chews in order to make up for the fact that his owner was an emotional mess.

Frank parked the van along the street, turned off the engine but left the keys in the ignition. He unbuckled his seatbelt but made no move to get out, so Foggy followed his lead, unclicking his belt and simply sitting up from his slumped position.

“Know where we are?”

“A shitty neighborhood?” Foggy guessed, peering out the window. It was a shitty neighborhood, he could see the dive bar near the corner where unsavory people skulked about. “They can’t see us, right?”

“Relax,” Frank said, “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

Which, Foggy noted, was not the same as saying they couldn’t be seen. But then again, Foggy probably was never as safe as he was when he was with Frank. Even Matt got his ass handed to him by this guy. That was probably a terrible thing to think but it made him feel better. That’s right, Matt, Foggy thought, my friend can beat you up.

God, Foggy was a terrible person. He said it out loud and Frank reached across without looking at him and smacked the back of his head. But instead of pulling his hand away when done, he dragged his hand down, palm curving to fit the back of Foggy’s head as it went. He dragged it down until he reached the back of Foggy’s neck, fingers curled gently around his nape.

Foggy suppressed a shiver even as his heart sped up.

“No, you aren’t. I brought you here to see terrible people. Believe me, you aren’t one of them.”

Frank pointed out the windshield with his free hand, his other hand a scorching point of contact. Foggy leaned forward slightly to see a skinny, greasy, looking guy exit the bar.

“See that guy right there?,” Frank asked and Foggy nodded, feeling the rough scrape of the callouses on Frank’s fingers. “Drug dealer, likes to hang around schools. Last week, a fifteen year old overdosed from something he bought from him. You think he’s gonna pay for that? You think he’s going to stop selling? You think he gives a shit about the lives he’s ruined?”

The cadence of Frank’s voice was a beating war drum, thrumming it’s rhythm into Foggy’s blood. This felt intimate, so intimate, sitting in a parked car, in a bubble of metal to protect them from the outside world. The two of them separate from all the people in Hell’s Kitchen, maybe from all the people in the world.  
   
“That one? Sells weapons to anybody with cash. Who knows how many people have died because of the guns he puts out on the streets. Him? Pimps out girls, beats them, rapes them, gets them hooked on drugs. These girls don’t get a second chance, they die covered in the mud he dragged them in.”

Frank turned to him, caught him with those intense eyes. Foggy could see the passion in them, the drive, the absolute certainty that Frank carried with him like a badge.

“No amount of jail time is going to change them. They don’t fucking care who they hurt or kill as long as they get theirs. Red? He puts these guys down, wraps them up pretty for the police and then what? These assholes are out walking the streets the very next day. Hurting somebody else. Killing somebody else.”

Frank tightened his hold on Foggy’s neck and pulled him close. Foggy’s heart was pounding and he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Frank’s hypnotic stare, the conviction burning in his eyes. Burning so hot and bright, like staring into the sun. It was burning Foggy up, his breath coming in little heaving gasps, his whole world narrowed down to Frank and only Frank.

Frank tapped their foreheads together, fingers digging in just a little bit firmer into Foggy’s skin.

“You aren’t a hypocrite, hot shot, you just finally figured out the score.”


	6. Chapter 6

His phone rang once and he scrambled for it, fumbling a bit before he got it turned right.

It wasn’t Matt. It was his mom. He answered it, pretending not to be disappointed.

*

He noticed the bagels first, pulling up short as he entered the kitchen. He eyed the bag suspiciously, prodding at it with one hand. Well, those were definitely bagels. He went over to the fridge and opened it. Then shut it. Then opened it again.

There was stuff in it. Edible stuff. Edible, healthy looking stuff. Milk that wasn’t solid. Cheese that wasn’t covered in green mold. He opened the crisper. Fresh vegetables and a bag of apples.

Frank Castle had just done his grocery shopping. Foggy was pretty sure this was the first time his fridge had been properly stocked since he moved in.

Well, shit. If Frank Castle was better at life than Foggy, what the hell did Foggy have left? 

He pulled out the cream cheese and ate two bagels for breakfast, but he did so under protest.

That day, on the way home, he stopped at the grocery store to buy a whole chicken. He knew he had potatoes, carrots and celery, thanks to Frank. He felt a need to cook a home-made meal, he hadn’t had one since the last time he visited his parents and he wasn’t sure if he had ever used the stove in his new apartment.

He was whistling when he came through his front door, greeting Max who met him tail wagging. The apartment had that empty feeling so he knew Frank wasn’t in. Didn’t matter. He’d just save left overs for him if he didn’t show up tonight.

“Just a sec, boy, let me get this started.”

He made a detour to the living room to put on some music before heading into the kitchen. He sang along with Taylor Swift as he pulled the vegetables out of the crisper, giving them a quick rinse before chopping them up.

Apparently it _was_ like riding a bike, he mused, as he seasoned the chicken and put it in the pan. It was mostly potatoes he surrounded it with, along with some carrots and celery. Max was in the kitchen with him, intensely curious about what he was doing.

“I’m a potato man, Max,” he told him, tossing him a piece of carrot. “The carrots and celery are to add something we call color.”

It wasn’t until he opened the oven that he hit a snag.

“Well, shit.”

He had forgotten to preheat it. He shrugged, tossed the pan in anyway and then turned it on.

“It’ll be fine.”

Max just cocked his head and scratched at the floor and Foggy laughed.

“Okay, fine. Let’s go for our walk.”

Outside, Max immediately put his nose to the ground. huffing along to his doggy heart’s content. They wandered for about half an hour, in no rush to go home since the chicken wouldn’t be done for a while yet. Max was more than happy to follow Foggy’s meandering lead after taking care of business, poking his nose at whatever they happened to come across.

Foggy stopped by the deli and bought some French bread, the woman behind the counter giving Max a piece of ham on the house. Foggy saluted her, tucking the bread under his arm as he exited the shop.

“You’re spoiled,” Foggy told Max fondly as they made their way back home.

They had just reached the door to his building when Frank came jogging up to them. He had his dumb baseball cap on which Foggy still didn’t understand. Frank put on a baseball cap and suddenly nobody in New York was capable of recognizing him.

“Hey,” Frank greeted him as Foggy held open the door, taking the bread Foggy was attempting to juggle. “You just coming in from work? You got to go in today?”

The last was said to Max as Frank reached down to give him a good ear scratch.

“No, I’m taking him in tomorrow. I came home and took him out.”

They entered the elevator, Foggy chatting about his day while Frank made various grunts and inquisitive noises that meant he was trying to be polite enough to pretend to listen. Foggy didn’t mind, his daily life was boring, who wanted to hear about what a lawyer did all day? Foggy just liked to talk.

As soon as Foggy unlocked his front door and ushered Frank in, Frank started sniffing the air before turning to look at Foggy in surprise.

“You cooking something, hot shot?”

Foggy grinned at him, bouncing a little on his heels.

“Guess you’ll have to see, huh?”

Frank squinted at him and then took off for the kitchen while Foggy was unclipping Max out of his harness.

“Impatient!” he called after Frank’s retreated back, Max taking his inattention as a chance to lick his chin. 

When he reached the kitchen, Frank had opened the oven and was peering in. Foggy shoved him over to peer inside himself.

“Almost there,” he decided, eyeing the chicken carefully. He shut the oven and turned to find Frank smiling at him.

“You sure about that? Or are you going to give us food poisoning right out of the gate?”

“Hardy-har-har, get the cutting board out will you? We can make a salad.”

That occupied their time while the chicken cooked the rest of the way, Frank washing the lettuce and tearing it up as Foggy sliced tomatoes and onions. Foggy then handed them off to Frank.

“Think you can manage the rest?” Foggy asked and Frank flipped him off, popping a piece of tomato in his mouth as Foggy snorted. While Frank assembled their salad, Foggy went over the cabinet and began pulling down dinner plates.

Frank started laughing.

“You’re breaking out actual dishware for this.”

Foggy sniffed, putting the plates onto the counter before rummaging for the silverware. 

“I’ll have you know this is a culinary masterpiece. Now, if you’ve managed to finish the salad, slice up some of the bread.”

Grabbing his potholders, Foggy pulled out the chicken, setting it on top of the stove. The skin was golden brown and perfect and Foggy felt his mouth water. He turned to Frank.

“Are we supposed to let the meat breathe or something?”

Frank just handed him a knife and fork.

“It’s already dead, it ain’t breathing. Just cut it up, will you? I’m starving.”

While Foggy carved up the chicken, Frank cracked open two beers, disappearing into the living room to put them on the table. He came back, snatched up his plate and bullied Foggy into serving him first.

“Keep this up and I’ll give you nothing but celery.”

Frank snorted.

“And miss out on the chance to impress me with your culinary skills?”

Foggy made a show of rolling his eyes, but loaded up Frank’s plate and then his own. They carried their plates to the living room, taking their seats on the couch.

Foggy frowned.

“Maybe I should have bought a dining table after all.”

“I had wondered about that.”

Foggy chewed thoughtfully on a piece of chicken.

“It seemed a waste, I always just watch tv when I eat,” he said gesturing to the blank screen. Frank grinned at him and Foggy could tell an insult was coming his way.

“Probably for the best, who knows what kind of ugly table you would have ended up with.”

“I’d like to see you pick out furniture, see how you’d decorate a house,” Foggy retorted and he was looking right at Frank as he said it. Saw Frank’s smile fade, how his face turned older like he had aged a million years in seconds. The air itself felt heavier, hushing itself for the grief radiating from Frank.

“I never did,” Frank said, voice rough and raw. “Maria chose everything. She had a better eye for that sort of thing.”

Shit.

This was probably the first home-cooked meal Frank had had since their deaths.

It hurt. It hurt to see Frank’s pain, to know there was nothing he could say or do to make that pain better. Foggy didn’t like to think about Frank’s family, didn’t like to think of the reasons Frank had to take up the gun but it had always been there. Waiting.

This was the first time Frank had made any sort of reference to their deaths at all and Foggy had no words, knew nothing anybody could say could make the pain any less.

On impulse, Foggy reached out and squeezed Frank’s hand.

Frank tangled their fingers and squeezed back.

*

He kept his phone out, where he could see it. Even when it didn’t beep he’d check it occasionally just to see if he had a missed message. Sometimes he did, but it was from Marci or his mother.

It was never from Matt.

It had been over a week since he had talked to Karen; if Matt was going to call, he would have done it by now.

Foggy was slowly realizing that he was okay with that.

*

Tina was an office worker who had worked for HC&B for a few years before Foggy had been hired. Foggy liked her, she was charming, funny and sharp as a tack. She came by his office sometimes, to hand over paperwork but usually stayed a minute or two to chat.

Now, he had run into her in the break room where he was eating a candy bar. He could eat his candy bar in his office but had felt like stretching his legs and moseyed down the hall to lean against the counter.

“Foggy!” she said warmly, coming over and he flapped one hand at her because his mouth was full of delicious chocolate. She laughed, reaching past him to the coffee pot, pouring some into her mug. 

“Taking a break?”

He swallowed and nodded.

“Yeah, just needed to get out of my office for a bit.”

“You know,” she said suddenly, tapping at her chin, “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you out of the office.”

He blinked, cocked his head to one side.

“No... no? I leave my office, I have to. You’ve seen me other places.”

“Not in the break room. You’re either in your office or on your way to your office. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take a break that wasn’t your lunch hour.”

Foggy thought back over all his months at HC&B. Working like a madman because it was easier to focus on paperwork than on his life. His job had been the only place he’d come up on top and he’d been so desperate to make it work.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I think you’re right. I guess I’m finally calming down. Not so worried they’re going to boot me out.”

“That’s good, Foggy. Don’t want to burn yourself out, right?”

She smiled at him and she was really pretty and Foggy could tell she was into him. He was surprised to find that he wasn’t interested. It was just, he was into dudes lately and as nice as Tina was, she wasn’t what he wanted.

“Hey, why don’t you come out with me tonight? My friends and I are going to be hitting the bars, drown our stress in alcohol.”

She looked at him eagerly and Foggy knew if he agreed, she’d think he was interested. 

“Maybe next time,” he said sincerely, not meaning it all. He felt no regret in turning her down. Honestly, he’d rather veg out at home with Max and Frank.

He walked her to the elevator because she had to run across town to pick up some files, waving as the doors closed and she was gone. 

“She’s into you,” a voice whispered in his ear and Foggy nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun around to see Marci’s smirking face.

“How the hell did you sneak up on me?” Foggy demanded, “You’re wearing five inch heels.”

She arched a brow at him.

“You know I can do anything in these heels.”

Before, back when they were still hooking up on occasion, that would have sounded like sexual innuendo. Now, he was pretty sure she was obliquely referencing that she could murder him in those heels and never get caught. He believed it.

“I’m not interested,” he said firmly and she pursed her lips at him.

“Good idea,” she said, “Don’t dip your pen in the company ink.”

He made a face.

“Crude, Marci, crude.”

She rolled her eyes, stepped a little closer, hands coming to his shoulders then slowly dragging down his jacket to tuck into his pockets, even as she lifted her mouth close to his.

“You don’t know how crude I can be, Foggy-Bear,” she breathed then stepped back. “Ha, I knew you had another candy bar on you.”

She had picked his pocket and now his second Snickers dangled from her hand. He tried half-heartedly to snatch it back but she made it disappear.

“Where did it go? You’re wearing a sheath dress, do you even have pockets?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to, Foggy-Bear. Now get back to work, Jeri doesn’t pay you to screw around.”

She began to walk away then paused glancing at him over her shoulder.

“You seem better.”

He gave her a wry smile.

“I’m getting there.”

*

He didn’t check his phone until he went to bed and that was just to make sure his alarm was set.

*

The next time Frank came to visit, Foggy was lying on his couch, box of half eaten pizza on the coffee table. He had been watching Netflix all day and refused to feel shame at Frank’s chiding look. It was super important he watch every episode of Arrested Development.

“Your problem is that you’re soft,” Frank announced and Foggy just poked himself in his stomach.

“Yep.”

“Get up.”

“Nope.”

“C’mon, Max, let’s go to your room.”

Foggy watched as Frank snatched up one of Max’s stuffed animals, leading him down the hall. He considered stirring, sitting up and seeing what Frank was up to but in the end, chose to veto. Why sit up when laying down was so great?

When Frank came back, Foggy congratulated himself on making the right choice. And that’s when Frank pulled him off the couch with a thunk.

“Ow,” Foggy said but Frank ignored him, instead shoving his couch along the wall until it was tucked into the corner. Foggy watched from the floor as Frank then turned to the coffee table and pushed it to the far wall. Now Foggy was lying in an empty space with only his living room rug to keep him company.

Frank prodded him with one foot.

“C’mon, get up.”

Foggy squinted at him (not as good as Frank’s squint but still decent, Foggy knew, he had been practicing in the mirror) but climbed to his feet, curious.

“What are we doing?” he asked, watching as Frank bent to remove his combat boots. Frank glanced up at him.

“I’m teaching you how to fight.”

“What? No, no way. I am not made for fighting. I am made for love and hugging, the squish is a fundamental part of my genetic make-up.”

Frank ignored him, going to put his boots away before coming back.

“I’m going to show you how to deal with an attacker. You got the weight and height to do some damage if you wanted to.”

“You said I was soft,” Foggy whined and Frank gave him a look.

“I said your _problem_ was you were soft. So let’s make you less soft.”

Without another word, Frank suddenly came at Foggy who put his hands up startled. All it did was make it easier for Frank to duck down, wrap his arms around Foggy’s chest and yank him to the ground. Foggy ended up face down, Frank with one knee on his back. He felt a finger tap the back of his head.

“Bang, you’re dead. Now, what did you do wrong here?”

“Uhm, let you kill me?”

Frank got off him, helping him back up to his feet.

“When someone comes at you like that, you got to move, hot shot. Don’t just stand there like a target.”

At Foggy’s blank stare, Frank arranged them again.

“I come at you like this,” Frank moved towards him just like before but much slower. “Let me come, don’t move towards me, let me come into your space. Now, when I’m swinging you want to sidestep. Here, you come at me, I’ll show you.”

Frank took a few steps back and at Frank’s nod, Foggy went at him, Frank neatly moving to the side so that now Foggy was no longer facing him.

“Odds are they come at you swinging so you cut an angle, let their own momentum move them past you. Now you can strike a punch.”

Frank pressed his fist to just below Foggy’s ear.

“This spot here, feel it?”

Foggy nodded.

“You hit this spot hard enough, it’ll take anybody down. So you punch them as hard as you can because you don’t want them getting up. You know how to throw a punch?”

Now that, Foggy did actually know how to do. Matt hadn’t taught him (Foggy hadn’t asked because everybody knew what had happened to Battlin’ Jack Murdock) but Foggy had gotten bored one summer and taken a class in basic boxing. He hadn’t stuck with it but he did remember the lessons. In answer, he took the proper stance, lifted up his hands and made fists the way the instructor had taught him.

Frank nodded approvingly.

“Okay, now I’m going to come at you again, you sidestep then tap me with your fist right where I showed you.”

They did it a few times at the slower pace, Frank correcting his feet, his arms, his body as they went along. He had to do a lot of correcting but he was patient with Foggy, never snapping or getting irritable. A good teacher. A good man, Foggy thought, in the end, a good man. 

He knew there were people who wouldn’t agree to that, who would label Frank a bad man, hell, Foggy had been one of them. But he knew now it wasn’t so simple as good versus bad. A good man who did bad things for good reasons. Life in Hell’s Kitchen was all shades of grey, the color gradient getting more muddled with each passing day.

Frank killed bad people and that was against the law. But Foggy had been in the DA’s office, had seen first hand the perversion of the law by the very people who promised to uphold it, had a bullet scar as a souvenir. Had felt his own helplessness against the DA’s office when dealing with Grotto. Foggy, who understood the law, who had a better chance than most to get justice, hadn’t been able to do much in the face of DA Reyes.

And before that, it had been dirty cops and Wilson Fisk and looking back Foggy could laugh at how naïve he had been. They had cleaned up the police force, gotten all the bad guys and Foggy honestly believed that was the end.

Justice had prevailed, right?

Now, Foggy had an ache in his shoulder as proof as to how far people would go to cover up the truth. A DA, a decorated colonel. The world called them good people and look what they had done. People called Frank a bad man and looked what he accomplished.

When Foggy didn’t move fast enough, Frank swept his legs out from under him, kind enough to follow him down, turning what would have been a hard fall into a controlled drop. Frank still landed on top of him, pressing him to the ground as a warm, solid weight, one arm pressing along his throat with just enough pressure to wordlessly point out how dangerous inattentiveness could be. Foggy swallowed, knew Frank could feel the bob of his adam’s apple against his forearm, sweat beginning to prickle along the edges of his scalp. 

It wasn’t that he was afraid or felt threatened; it was just this was probably the most bodily contact Foggy had experienced in over a year.

He stared up at Frank’s face, took in the crooked slope of his nose, the cut of his eyebrows, his absolutely ridiculous ears.

Focus, Foggy, he thought to himself as Frank got off him and they both climbed to their feet.

“You gotta be mean, hot shot. No hesitation. You fight dirty, you hear me? Go for the eyes, the crotch, bite them if you can. Nothing nice about this. Now, try it again.”

By the end, Foggy was sweaty, achy and fairly certain he could feel bruises forming along his ribcage.

It felt good.

*

That night, after easing carefully into bed mindful of his new bruises, Foggy deleted Matt’s number from his cell phone.


	7. Chapter 7

Sometimes a man needed more than just his hands.

That was why Foggy was currently splayed out on his bed, legs spread and his favorite dildo pressed deep. It had been over a year since he had sex with another person and one more sad wank in his shower just wasn’t going to cut it. Getting off had been a mechanical part of his daily shower for far too long.

He bit his lip, arching his back, slick wet fingers slipping on the base of the dildo as he worked it in and out. It was hard to get the perfect angle, bit of a strain but there was a hunger deep in his belly. He needed this, needed something more than just his hand.

There.

Groaning, he began to pump the dildo in and out, the head of it scraping against his prostrate. It felt so good, it had been so long, he could feel the pleasure sparking all along his spine. It was a slow build, his cock bobbing against his belly and leaking.

He didn’t want to touch his cock just yet, wanted to drag it out, wanted to work for it. Wanted to ache for it. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure. Foggy hadn’t had that in a long time. The dildo was nice and thick, stretching him in all the best ways and he worked it in deep before sliding it back out with a whimper. Again. Again.

Again.

He shut his eyes, attempted to conjure up a fantasy. A guy on top of him, solid, muscular. Someone with broad shoulders, shoulders he could cling to as the guy fucked deep into him. Dark hair, when it came to women, Foggy tended to go after blondes but men? Dark hair all the way.

Dark haired guy on top of him, a nice heavy weight, yeah, Foggy could get into this. He finally brought one hand to stroke his cock, the other still working the dildo. The guy would be strong, would pin him down and make him take it, thick waist, thick cock, fuck, splitting him open.

He let go of the dildo, contorting a bit so it would stay inside, the base pressing against the mattress. Why hadn’t he ever bought one of those fucking machines? He saw a video once, he could afford one now, keep it in his closet for special occasions. Merry Christmas for Foggy Nelson.

He groaned, clenching down on the dildo, both hand working frantically on his cock, rubbing his thumb along the head. He was close, so close. The guy he was fantasizing kept trying to have a face but Foggy was old hat at this, concentrated on how the guy would feel, the hot skin, the hard muscles, the rough callused hands that would stroke along his sides before grabbing his waist and impaling him on his cock.

A low husky voice muttering in his ear, vague endearments and a stupid nickname.

Fuck.

Foggy fucked through the tunnel of his hands, once, twice and then came, back arching, thighs trembling. He could feel the dildo inside him, firm and unforgiving as he clenched around it and it just made his orgasm hit even harder until he collapsed down on to the bed.

He lay there panting and trembling, feeling the come slowly cooling on his belly. The lassitude seeping into his bones made the mess worth it. He let out a deep sigh and groped for the towel had placed near his pillow and let his eyes flutter open.

Frank was standing in the doorway.

“I got pizza,” Frank said, then shut the door and was gone.

That bone deep lassitude?

That was gone as well.

Shit.

Foggy lay there on his bed, staring up at his ceiling and wondering what gods he pissed off to deserve all the shit life threw at him. Couldn’t a man fuck himself with a dildo in his own bedroom without getting interrupted? He reached down and eased the dildo out because of course the thing had to still be inside him when there were witnesses about.

Maybe if Foggy wished hard enough, he would just die.

Ten minutes later, he was still alive and the come on his stomach was itching. With a groan, he rolled out of bed and stepped into his boxers, shuffling over to his dresser. He needed a shower and made it a point to pull out his most comfortable and well-worn shirt and sweats. He needed the comfort.

Then he turned back to the bed and faced a conundrum.

Usually, he took his sex toys to the bathroom to clean and left them on the counter to dry. Usually, he didn’t have Frank Fucking Castle sitting in his living room. Usually, he didn’t have to worry about somebody coming across his favorite dildo and judging him for it. It was bright pink for god’s sake.

Did other people have to deal with this crap?

Finally, he just wrapped the dildo up in the towel, took his bundle of clothes and opened his bedroom door and sprinted to his bathroom. There, he washed his toy and let it dry while he took the longest shower he dared, partly hoping that if he took long enough, Frank would just leave like a normal person would.

After he dressed, he shook his drying dildo out over the bathroom sink to get the last water drops off of it, just contemplating what his life had become. Shaking a dildo over the sink while a friend hung out in the living room. Just a day in the life.

He poked his head out the bathroom door. The hall was empty and he could hear the humming of the tv in the living room. The coast was clear. He and his dildo made it safely back into his room where he hid it back in his underwear drawer where it belonged.

Then he stripped his messy bed, rolling the sheets into a ball and tossing it in the corner. He planned on doing laundry tomorrow, hence the whole messy masturbation session because Foggy’s life was also the kind of life that mandated planned masturbation sessions.

Foggy P. Nelson: Planned Masturbator.

He put clean sheets on his bed, fluffed his pillow, then messed with the sheets again before finally admitting he had no more excuses to avoid leaving the bedroom. He took a deep breath and went into the living room. 

Frank and Max were watching House Hunters International, half a pizza cooling on the table. Frank didn’t look up but Max did, tail thumping against the couch cushion. Foggy wished he was a dog; dogs never got embarrassed.

Foggy sat down without a word, manfully repressing the wince his sore ass demanded because he had been pretty vigorous with the dildo. His stomach rumbled and it was horrifying to know that even abject humiliation wasn’t enough to kill his appetite. He grabbed a slice of pizza and began to eat his feelings, tearing off a piece of crust to slip to Max.

During the commercial, Frank got up and went into the kitchen, coming back with an opened ice cold beer and handing it to him silently. Foggy mumbled something that could be taken as thanks and took a swallow. Would have been better with whiskey, he thought, although he had poured all his harder liqueur down the drain after that whole black out drunk fiasco.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” Frank offered after twenty minutes of silence, demolishing Foggy’s heartfelt hope that they were just going to pretend it didn’t happen, “Everybody does it.”

“No,” Foggy said firmly and Frank turned to him, eyebrow quirking. “Well, I mean yes about the everybody masturbates but no about this conversation. I had this conversation back when puberty happened, and you know what? I’m not going through that again, especially not with you.”

Frank rolled his eyes, settled back on the couch, Max resting at his side because that traitor loved Frank more even though Foggy had just given him a pepperoni. A pepperoni!

“I’m just saying don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried,” Foggy exclaimed, wincing a little at how high his voice sounded. “I am not worried, worry is not the emotion I am feeling right now.”

He pulled another piece of crust off his pizza and held it out to Max, trying to coax him over. Max just stretched out his neck as far as it would go, wanting the food without actually having to get up. Dear god, what had Foggy taught him? Foggy gave him the crust anyway.

“Why were you even in my bedroom?” he asked, focused on Max so he wouldn’t have to look Frank in the face, “Why didn’t you knock?”

“You gave me a key.”

And he had, about a week after that rather illuminating trip in Frank’s murdervan. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Given as a sign of affection and look how that had bitten Foggy in the ass. His ass that had a _dildo_ in it.

“To the front door, not my bedroom! And I only did that because you kept scratching up the locks when you picked them open.”

A blatant lie; Frank was an excellent lock pick.

“Bedroom door wasn’t locked,” Frank pointed out in what he probably thought was a reasonable tone of voice.

“It was shut! Why would you even open it up in the first place?”

“I heard noises, I thought you were in trouble.”

The was a beat of silence.

“I’m horrified by the fact that my sex noises sound like somebody being murdered,” Foggy said, face burning. Was he that loud? Could Max hear him? Was his dog sitting in the living room listening to Foggy getting his rocks off?

“We are never talking about this again,” Foggy said firmly and ate the last slice of pizza. Frank just sighed and went back to watching HGTV.

*

His mom had cooked a roast, Foggy could smell it as soon as he entered the house making his mouth water. He had thought about cooking a roast for Frank but those damn things took hours to cook in the oven and Foggy had given away his crock pot to Mrs. Garcia, a sweet little grandma who had paid in tamales back when Nelson & Murdock had been a thing.

His mom came bustling over immediately and he held out the bouquet of flowers he had picked up on the way over.

“For the lady of the house,” he said grandly, sketching out a bow and she laughed, coming in to kiss his cheek.

“Foggy, these are beautiful, you didn’t have to.”

Then she turned to call teasingly over her shoulder,

“If only your father was as considerate!”

And Foggy’s father yelled back from the kitchen.

“Stop making me look bad, son!”

She turned back to Foggy, beaming.

“Let me go get a vase for these.”

And then she was off and Foggy followed the smell of food into the kitchen where his father sat at the table, reading on the e-reader Foggy had bought him last year for Christmas.

“Now she’s gonna be forever trying to find the perfect vase,” his dad said, looking up, “You know she has about twenty of them. Every time we go to a wedding, she takes one of the vases home.”

Foggy joined him at the kitchen table, aware of how his dad was studying him as he sat down.

“You look better,” his dad said, “Work treating you good?”

Foggy nodded, tracing the faded curling vine on the table cloth. He was pretty sure the table cloth was almost as old as he was.

“Yeah, I’ve slowed down, realized I didn’t have to kill myself to keep the job.”

His father nodded.

“You look nervous.”

It was said blandly, no judgement. Growing up, Foggy’s mom had always been able to make him feel better but it was Foggy’s dad who had always noticed something was wrong in the first place. When he was seven and James Spencer had shoved him into the dirt and called him fat, Foggy hadn’t said a word but his dad took one look at him and knew.

He’d asked Foggy what was wrong but Foggy didn’t want to be a tattle and kept his mouth shut. His father hadn’t pressed, told him he could talk when he wanted and had taken him to the park to play catch. When they got home, his mother had made his favorite meal, which at the time had been dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets. Foggy had always been a man of simple tastes.

Brett, actually, had been the one to take care of James Spencer, showing up to school the next day with a sheriff’s badge pinned to his shirt. Brett had declared James a wanted criminal and convinced all the other kids to chase him with sticks. 

Their teacher had taken away the badge as soon as she had noticed it but Brett told Foggy that was the price one paid for justice. He got it back at the end of the day, anyway.

His mom came bustling back in, flowers now in a glass vase.

“There,” she said, taking it over to the kitchen sink to fill it with water, “These will look beautiful in the living room, when your Aunt Brenda comes over, she’ll be so jealous. Your good for nothing cousin never gets her flowers.”

Foggy’s father was still watching him. Talk when he wanted, right?

He took a deep breath.

“Matt and I aren’t friends anymore.”

His mother set the vase down on the counter with a thunk.

He told them a highly edited version of events and while a small, petty part of him wanted to paint Matt in the worse possible light, he just couldn’t do it.

“Matt had other things he had to do. Important things,” he stressed when his mother began to protest, “Stuff he didn’t expect to pop up. We were both stressed out, things came to a head and Nelson & Murdock went kablooey.”

“I was mad at first,” Foggy admitted, knowing his parents would read through the lines and know he had cried his eyes out. They knew their son. “But I think I’m getting over it.”

His mom just hugged him for a long time. His father clapped him on his back several times like he could pummel happiness back into Foggy’s heart via spine. It was good to be home, with them. A reminder that just because he lost some good things, didn’t mean he had lost everything.

*

Foggy was sitting on his couch, boning up on some case files when Frank threw something at him. Foggy caught it on automatic and found himself holding a cheap, black, flip phone.

“I already programmed my number in. Figure if one of us needed to contact the other, might as well make it easy. If I have to get rid of mine, I’ll let you know the new number.”

“A burner phone,” Foggy gasped, staring down at the phone in his hand like it was a jewel. “I always wanted one of these.”

He held it to his ear.

“Do I look illicit?” he asked and Frank just rolled his eyes.

“The things that amuse you amaze me, you know that? I thought if you ever had to work late and needed someone to take Max out, you could text me.”

Foggy held out the phone to Max, who gave it a brief sniff, discerned it wasn’t food and went back to chewing his stuffed duck.

“Lookit, Max, now you won’t have to hold it in when I come home late. Frank will take you out. And not buy you a hotdog from one of the vendors on the street.”

That last bit was aimed at Frank who huffed and rolled his eyes.

“How is that any different from you feeding him off your plate?”

“You bought him his own hotdog! He doesn’t need his own hotdog and honestly, it just seems kind of cannibalistic.”

“Hot dogs don’t have dogs in them.”

“From that vendor? It very well could have.”

That night, Foggy placed both his phones on his bedside table, doing nothing to repress the giddiness rolling through him. It was ridiculous to feel this happy about a crappy flip phone but he couldn’t deny how pleased it made him.

He could call Frank whenever he wanted! Well, he wouldn’t because god knew what the hell Frank did with his time but still. It was a tether, a tie, a step in their relationship. Until he got handed this phone, Foggy didn’t realize how worried he had been, that one day Frank could just up and leave and it might be weeks before Foggy twigged on to the fact that he wasn’t coming back.

But this phone felt like a promise. It made their friendship seems a little more lasting. It felt like Frank reaching out and taking Foggy’s hand. Like Frank was saying he’d be there for Foggy, the way Foggy’s apartment was always there for him.

Foggy smiled dopily down at the cell.

He was Hottie McBurner Phone. Sort of.

*

“Ta-dah!”

Foggy placed the styrofoam container on Marci’s desk with a flourish. 

“What is this,” she said flatly, looking unimpressed. He smiled winningly at her.

“I was out and about during lunch and I thought of you.”

She continued to stare levelly at him. He sighed, spread out his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“I’ve been an asshole these past months. I’m sorry and I come bearing gifts.”

She continued to stare at him, searching his face and he braced himself and took it. He had been a miserable bastard all this time, too mired in his own misery to treat her like the friend she was. She had visited him in the hospital, she had gotten him an interview here and he had repaid that by blowing off all her attempts at friendship. Foggy could be a real dick sometimes.

After what felt like a million years, she leaned back in her chair, apparently appeased by whatever she saw in his face.

“You don’t look so pathetic anymore.”

Oh. That was what she saw. He shrugged helplessly.

“You were right, about Matt.” 

His voice only stuttered a little on his name. She hummed a little but didn’t say anything.

“I was just hiding from all that, refusing to deal and it was just making it worse. But I’m dealing with it now. I even told my parents what really happened.”

Her eyes widened.

“You were lying to your parents? Oh, Foggy-Bear, you were worse off than I thought.”

“But hey, I’m bouncing back now, right?”

He gave her another winning smile but she just rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

“I should make you grovel more,” she said grudgingly and Foggy knew he had been forgiven. He wasn’t sure he deserved it but Marci had always been kinder than she was willing to admit. She pulled the styrofoam container closer and opened it up.

“A chocolate eclair,” she said, sounding delighted, immediately sticking one finger into the cream and licking it off. She loved those things, something Foggy had learned early on, not when they were dating but before. Back when they had first studied together, because Marci was a study master and Foggy her humble student. She hadn’t had to help him but she had and Foggy had taken to thanking her with pastry.

He got the best response when he showed up with eclairs and Foggy was nothing if not a fast learner.

“Can I have a bite?”

“No.”

At his sad face, she rolled her eyes and tore off a piece and handed it to him.

“I spoil you,” she said.

“I know,” Foggy said sincerely and she paused a moment, giving him a small little smile.

“And you still need to start taking me out to lunch. And go out for drinks. I need somebody to chase all the losers away.”

“I know, I know, of course, I exist to serve you.”

“Don’t be an asshole again, Foggy-Bear,” she said, mouth full of pastry.

“No guarantees but I’ll try,” Foggy said cheerfully, taking his own big bite.

*

Frank had insisted on more self-defense lessons, surprising absolutely nobody.

“I’m going to choke you,” Frank said.

“Without buying me dinner first?” Foggy exclaimed, fluttering his eyes, “I’m not that kind of girl.”

“I’ve bought you dinner plenty of times. Now get over.”

Sighing, Foggy heaved himself off the couch, patting Max’s head and telling him to stay.

They had let Max stay in the room the second time around, making sure to keep an eye out on his anxiety levels which had proven unfounded. Max hadn’t been concerned at all about Frank flopping Foggy around, had in fact jumped in excitedly to help, slobbering kisses all over both their faces whenever they were on the ground. Now, he could watch but he had to stay on the couch.

Frank put his hands around Foggy’s neck.

“Tell me what you can do.”

Foggy looked Frank up and down.

“Well, uhm, with your arms up like that, your whole body is unprotected. And you can’t stop me kicking or hitting you, not if you want to keep your hands on my neck.”

“Good,” Frank said approvingly. “The first thing to do is to chop down on the forearms, weaken his grip and then knee him in the groin. Even if he doesn’t let go, he’ll still double over, that’s when you knee him in the stomach. Here, put your hands around my neck and I’ll show you.”

Frank demonstrated a few times until Foggy nodded, indicating he got it. Then they changed positions, Frank putting his hands back up around Foggy’s neck.

“Remember, as soon as you take me out, you make a fast getaway.”

Foggy nodded.

“Got it.”

The tenth or twelfth or maybe millionth time, he flubbed and Frank took advantage, taking him to the ground so Foggy was flat on his back before he even realized it was happening. And then Frank was on top, knees on either sides of his chest, his weight pinning him down.

Then one of Frank’s other lessons kicked in.

Foggy wrapped his arms around Frank’s chest and pulled him down tight, lifting up his right leg and making sure to pin Frank’s right calf underneath it. Then he heaved to the right, carrying his own weight and Frank’s, slamming Frank back to the ground with Foggy on top.

It took seconds.

“Ha!” Foggy crowed, “I got you! I rule! You suck!”

He stared down at Frank, doing his best to grin triumphantly even if he was panting too hard. Frank was smiling back up at him, his eyes doing that damn crinkling thing again and Foggy could tell he was proud. Proud of what Foggy could do. Proud of what Foggy had learned.

This moment was probably going on too long.

Foggy recognized that even as time seemed to slow down, cradled as he was between Frank’s legs. Bracketed by Frank’s thighs and Frank wasn’t nearly as sweaty as Foggy but there was a flush blooming across his nose as Foggy watched. His hair was mussed and he was taking Foggy’s weight like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Foggy became aware that he wasn’t smiling anymore and neither was Frank, they were just laying there, staring at each other. Frank’s lips were parted, they were breathing in the each other’s air, pressed together tightly in the silence of the room. Foggy was getting his breathing under control but his heart was still beating wildly in his chest.

Foggy rolled off of him, flopping on his back beside him. Frank sat up but didn’t stand, just stayed close enough to touch.

“Hey, Frank,” Foggy said, staring up at the ceiling, and Frank clearly heard the hesitation in his voice.

“Yeah?”

His voice was soft, careful.

“I don’t want to learn how to shoot a gun.”

It sounded plaintive and Foggy knew he should be embarrassed at how obvious it was that he didn’t want to disappoint Frank. He sat up, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at his hands.

“I mean, I thought about it, really I did, and I don’t think I can do it. I’m just, I’m not-”

“I’d never ask you to do that, hot shot,” Frank said gently and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close.

“Thanks,” Foggy mumbled, leaning against Frank’s solid strength. “Thank you.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-typical violence in this bit!

“The guy at Max’s rehab,” Frank said, apropos of nothing and Foggy stopped fiddling with his phone. His real phone, not his burner phone. That thing couldn’t play games.

“What?”

“Blond, tall.”

“Colin?”

Frank shrugged.

“Wait, how do you know about him? Are you stalking me?”

Frank shrugged again and Foggy was beginning to get a little suspicious of the way Frank was refusing to look at him.

“Okay,” Foggy said slowly, “What about Colin, Mister Creepy?”

“He’s into you.”

Foggy sat back in his chair.

“What? No, he’s not, have you seen him? Out of my league,” Foggy paused as the implication hit him, “What the hell? I was joking about the stalking! Are you actually stalking me, Frank?”

“I check up on you,” Frank insisted but judging from the light flush centering around his nose and expanding to his cheeks, even he knew how flimsy that sounded. “Hell’s Kitchen is a dangerous place.”

“Max’s rehab center isn’t in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“You know what I mean. I just check on you every now and then.”

That was actually kind of sweet. Kind of. No, not really. Maybe?

“I never even noticed,” Foggy marveled, rubbing Max’s head as Max leaned bodily against him. Foggy was pretty sure he had some cookie crumbs on his shirt from earlier and that Max was trying to get to them. “So do you have binoculars or something so you can spy on me from a distance? Oh, shit, is it a different hat? They can’t recognize you when you wear a baseball hat, maybe I can’t recognize you when you wear a sombrero.”

Frank looked pained but Foggy liked to think it was tinged with fondness.

“You rarely look behind you, seem to have no peripheral awareness of your surroundings and take the same routes every single time. You aren’t that hard to tail. We should work on that.”

Foggy scoffed.

“Why would anybody want to tail me? I’m just a lowly associate.”

Frank began counting off on one hand.

“One, you helped put away Wilson Fisk, two, you have ties to the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen-,”

“Not anymore,” Foggy muttered but Frank ignored him.

“Three, you got ties to me.”

“Nobody knows about that.”

“And as far as I’m concerned, nobody ever will,” Frank said grimly and Foggy patted his knee.

“I’m sure I’m safe, especially with you watching me.”

Frank’s face just got darker and Foggy winced.

“So what about Max’s therapist?” Foggy hastily added, not wanting Frank to start dwelling on what bad things could possibly happen in some nebulous future.

It worked as a distraction. Frank pursed his lips, scratched at his cheek.

“Colin, you said?” Frank said, faux-casual and Foggy was certain Frank probably had a whole dossier on poor Colin. Full name, height, weight, favorite color.  “I’m telling you, he likes you. You should ask him out, let him take you home.”

“I’m not going to have sex with my dog’s therapist,” Foggy said, outraged. “That’s unethical!”

Frank paused a moment, glanced heavenward.

“Mostly unethical on his part though, wouldn’t it? Wait, no. It isn’t unethical at all, where do you even get these ideas?”

“It seems kind of wrong. This is Max’s mental health we’re talking about. Wasn’t there a movie about that? Not a dog, though. A therapist dates her patient’s son, I think, or was it the other way around? Somebody was somebody’s son, I know that.”

“Focus, hot shot.”

Foggy made a face.

“Are you trying to set me up? Are you playing matchmaker? Wow. This is my nightmare. This is more horrifying than when my mother tries to get me to date the nice girl she met in the checkout line.”

“Just thought it might be good for you.”

The way Frank said it, Foggy knew suddenly exactly what this was all about. God, he had the shittiest life. He shut his eyes and now he was the one blushing.

“This is about the thing we don’t talk about.”

This was about Frank walking in on Foggy’s special alone time because of course Frank wouldn’t be able to let it go. Frank probably thought Foggy’s lustful urges were going to get the better of him, some sort of weird efficiency thing. Like his mind was clouded with his sexual repression which was so ridiculous as to be laughable.

Frank probably thought a Foggy who had sex would be a more efficient Foggy. Goes to show what he knew; after getting laid, Foggy was all but useless for a good two or three hours. So there. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“See, the thing about not talking about something means we don’t talk about it.”

“I did want to ask you something,” Frank said, scratching at his nose. He was just full of these oh-so-casual ticks this evening. Foggy eyed him suspiciously.

“What?”

“So, you gay?”

Frank turned to look at him then, probably to make it clear that it wasn’t an accusation. He looked curious more than anything.

“Bisexual,” Foggy said primly before it occurred to him that Frank wanted that information for reconnaissance and Frank nodded, looking thoughtful. Oh no.

“I swear to god if you try to fix me up with some woman you’ve come across during your misadventures-“

“Calm down, hot shot. You made it clear you don’t like that.”

“You’re being weirdly intense about this.”

Foggy frowned at him, because he was. Like he had some sort of vested interest in Foggy’s sex life. Frank had put time and thought into this and if that wasn’t horrifying, Foggy didn’t know what was. Frank shrugged, started not looking at him again.

“Thought it might be good for you,” he repeated and Foggy groaned.

“Look, don’t worry about it. Please. I will take care of that all on my own, trust me. I will handle whatever comes up.”

Frank began to smirk.

“Oh god, no! Not up, like my dick up, I’m not implying _erections_ , you are a shithead you know that?”

Frank began to laugh and Foggy snatched up one of the throw pillows, hitting him in the chest with it. Still laughing, Frank grabbed the other pillow and then it was on, Max giving a happy bark and joining in.

*

“I’d be careful about Annabelle,” his father warned after their hello hug. Foggy gave him a confused look, glancing around the park for Annabelle, his ten year old cousin. He spotted her among the bevy of children running past.

“Annabelle? Ten year old Annabelle?”

“She’s learned how to french braid.”

“Ah, say no more.”

This happened any time one of his younger cousins learned how to braid, ponytail, apply lipstick. Anybody they could pin down then became their guinea pig. Foggy had learned his lesson though, about eyeliner. Everybody still liked to bring up the Christmas he had almost lost an eye to Mia’s enthusiastic make-over attempts. It had warranted an emergency room visit.

“I don’t know why I bother to warn you,” his father said, “All the kids know to go for you, you’re the weakest in the herd.”

“Thanks, dad. I can always count on you for the nicest compliments.”

His dad laughed, obviously impressed with his own wit. Foggy held up the present in his hand.

“We got a gift table going on?”

His dad pointed over to the left, where several picnic tables were decorated with purple and white streamers and balloon. Seemed rather obvious in retrospect. He made his way over, greeting various family members as he went.

It was Katie’s twelfth birthday and Foggy had, in somewhat of a panic, bought some stuff at Hot Topic and then thrown twenty bucks in a card for good measure.

Tweens were such a difficult age, he thought as he put his present on the pile. He looked around.

It was mostly herds of young girls running around, with a sprinkle here and there of boys. Foggy’s family had the tendency to churn out daughters instead of sons. Foggy himself had only two male cousins around his age but five female cousins.

His mom was with his aunts, buzzing around the food table, setting out napkins and plates and Foggy wandered over, mostly in the hopes of getting some potato salad.

“Foggy!” his mom exclaimed when she caught sight of him. She flapped his hand at him then pointed to something under the table. He ducked down a little bit to get a look.

“I got you a crock pot, you told me you didn’t have one and it was on sale. Plus I got a coupon in the mail!”

“Oh sweet, I can cook a roast, this is great, Ma, thanks.”

“Foggy’s been cooking again,” his mom informed his aunts and they all cooed appropriately. Aunt Brenda got a look in her eye and Foggy knew what was coming next.

“You’re a lawyer and you cook,” Aunt Brenda said, “Foggy, when are you going to bring home a nice girl?”

Foggy pasted a smile on his face.

“I’m not really looking for love right now,” he said with a laugh, “Just going to focus on my career for a bit.”

“You’re not getting any younger,” she exclaimed, “You want to be alone forever? You can afford a nice wedding now.”

“Foggy won’t be alone forever,” his mom said sharply before Foggy could respond. “He’s taking his time, he’s not going to rush into anything.”

“Is he even dating anybody?” Aunt Brenda demanded, “He’s spending too much time goofing off, he won’t find someone like that. He should cut his hair, too, girls don’t like men with long hair.”

His mother began to turn red.

“When is Cousin Sarah due?” Foggy threw out desperately before his mother got into a fistfight with Aunt Brenda. It hadn’t happened yet but every family get-together could be the one. His aunts began to immediately yell out different dates, all of them insisting the date they were saying was the correct one.

“No, I’m certain,” his mother was saying, “She posted it on Facebook, you know she’s always posting everything on Facebook. Even private stuff!”

Relief coursed through him as the conversation became about Cousin Sarah and her inappropriate Facebook statuses, instead of Foggy and his forever aloneness. Sorry, Cousin Sarah, Foggy thought. I’ll get you something nice for Christmas.

He felt a tug on his shirt tails and looked down.

“Cousin Foggy...”

Annabelle stared up at him sweetly, all imploring doe-eyes.

Foggy was fucked.

*

Foggy took an Uber home because no way was he going to negotiate the subway carrying a crock pot and several styrofoam containers filled with ribs, hot dogs, potato salad and cake. At least he had dinner taken care of, he reflected, as he juggled his bags in order to unlock his front door.

His dad always hated eating the same meal twice in a row but Foggy never had that problem. Leftovers just meant he didn’t have to cook and Foggy’s natural laziness made that a plus in his book. He put the food in the fridge then he and Max went out for a walk.

As Max sniffed along the pavement, Foggy really tried hard not to let Aunt Brenda’s words get to him.

Bring a nice girl home. Please. Foggy wasn’t looking for a relationship right now. He didn’t have time or the inclination to find a ‘nice girl’ or boy, he thought snidely. His parents were aware of his sexuality, weirded out at first but had come around to accept it. Just make sure they’re a nice person, his mom would say. Boy or girl, just as long as they’re good to you.

As for the rest of his extended family, it tended to be a thing nobody brought up, at least with the older generation. Poor Cousin Sarah had introduced him to a guy or two and Foggy hated to say it, but Cousin Sarah had shit taste in men.

He wasn’t going to be forever alone. That was ridiculous. He was a high-powered lawyer, he wore fancy suits. If all else failed, he could probably pick up a trophy spouse. Someone who would use him for his money.

Great. Now he made himself sad.

When they got home, he put the radio on and went to go clean his bathroom because depressing thoughts needed depressing actions. Plus Frank tended to do it if Foggy didn’t and damn if Foggy didn’t feel guilty about it.

Max followed him and Foggy sent him away, the fumes couldn’t be good for him. Max’s sad face meant Foggy went back into the living room with him to give him a rawhide chew.

“There,” he said, “That should entertain you while I toil away in the bathroom.”

Max ignored him to chew on the bone. Foggy went back and got to scrubbing. It made no damn sense that his tub could get so dirty. Water and soap, the dumb tub was washed daily with water and soap whenever he showered and somehow Foggy still had to put his back into getting it clean.

Once that was finished, he cleaned the counter, rearranging things to clear up space. He had bought Frank his own toothbrush a long time ago and Frank’s razor had appeared a few weeks ago to live next to Foggy’s.

He had moved on to pouring the blue stuff in the toilet bowl when Frank appeared in the doorway, Max peering around his legs. Frank quirked a brow, leaning against the door jamb and crossing his arms.

“I feel I should mark the date, you cleaning. Who knew you could manage?”

“I clean. I’m just not as fanatical as you are.”

“Not wanting to bathe in filth does not make me a fanatic.”

“My tub has never been filthy,”  Foggy lied, because it had been before Frank started visiting. “My tub gets clean every time I shower because I use soap and shampoo.”

“And conditioner and face scrub and loofah and god knows what else-“

“Just because I don’t rub soap over my scalp like a heathen-”

Foggy reached for the toilet brush and Frank stopped him.

“No, you gotta let that stuff sit for a while.”

Foggy stared down at the bright blue bowl doubtfully.

“Are you sure? I’ve never waited before.”

Frank heaved a great big sigh and Foggy threw his hands up.

“Okay, fine! You obviously feel very passionately about this, so I will let it sit.”

They bickered their way back down the hall, Max following after them tail wagging.

“I brought food from the party,” Foggy said as they sat down on the couch. “Ribs and cake.”

“Oh yeah, how was it? Your cousin like her gift?”

Frank had been there when Foggy had suddenly remembered that he had yet to buy her a gift and had laughed at his ensuing panic.

“She liked her gifts just fine. Well, I know she definitely liked the twenty.”

Foggy had been careful not to ask Frank for advice on what to buy a little girl and Frank hadn’t volunteered any information. Foggy had spent the rest of the night distracting him with stories of Foggy’s childhood, including the time Foggy had broken his arm jumping off the top of the slide because he had been convinced he had been chubby enough to bounce.

Brett had told him ‘I told you so’ while Foggy lay there crying and then had run as fast as his skinny legs could take him to get Foggy help.

“My mom got me a crock pot so I’ll be able to cook us up some stuff.”

Foggy had taken to making them meals and if Frank didn’t show up that day, would just leave a tupperware with his name on it in the fridge. The tupperware would disappear and reappear freshly washed in his dish rack and Foggy would just fill it up again.

It was a nice little system, seeing as Frank also kept up with the groceries.

After Foggy had scrubbed the toilet under Frank’s watchful eye, they decided to take Max out for another walk. There was a tiny park a couple of blocks over that Foggy liked to take Max to now and again. Let him pee on trees, the way dogs were intended to.

They took their time, lingering until the sun went down before making their way back home. Frank filled Max’s food bowl while Foggy took the leftovers out of the fridge and plated them up before sticking them in the microwave. Frank was getting the ice tea out and pouring them out glasses.

Teamwork!

They ate the barbecue, finished off the slices of cake before Frank sat back on the couch.

“So, to be clear, that is a french braid your hair is in.”

“For your information, these are double French braids but I think you knew that,” Foggy said, tilting his head from side to side to put both braids on display. “I got my hair done by Annabelle, the ten year old prodigy who’s all the rage. It’s nearly impossible to get an appointment, you know.”

Frank just snorted.

“Don’t get so catty. It’s not my fault I look so fabulous.”

“Mmm, yeah, hot shot, you see right through me.”

“Jealous,” Foggy mouthed more than said, just to hear Frank laugh.

“Idiot,” Frank said fondly, then jerked his chin to indicate a small dresser against the wall.“That’s new.” 

Foggy brightened, getting off the couch and going over to it. 

“Oh yeah, I got this for you,” he said, crouching down to open one of the drawers to show it was empty. “You can leave some of your clothes here for when you spend the night.”

Frank was smiling.

“And it looks just like a regular dresser, too. Your taste in furniture is improving, you should be proud.”

“How the hell does one screw up getting a dresser?”

“I don’t know but I think you’d manage.”

Frank didn’t stay that night and Foggy walked him to the door like a gentleman.

“Well,” Foggy said, “I’d say have a good time but that seems inappropriate.”

Frank reached towards him then hesitated.

“I was gonna ruffle your hair,” he said, “But I can’t do that with your hair up in braids.”

“They did stay in pretty good, didn’t they?” Foggy mused, shaking his head back and forth and it felt a little weird not to have his hair brushing back and forth. “I am actually pretty impressed with Annabelle’s skills.”

“You look pretty fabulous,” Frank said with a fond smile, and reached for Foggy anyway. Frank’s fingers tripped along the shell of his ear, rough and hot before pinching his ear lobe and giving it a tug. Then he was gone, leaving Foggy shivering in the aftermath.

Wow. 

Oh wow.

Maybe Frank was right and Foggy did need to get laid if an ear grope left him in this state.

Right.

Foggy went and jacked off in the shower.

*

He was on his way home from work when his phone rang.

His burner phone.

He quickly scooted to one side of the sidewalk, fumbling at bit at his pocket. This was so exciting, this was the first time Frank had called him, although they had exchanged a few texts. Mostly of the hey-whats-for-dinner and do-we-have-milk variety but still. Communication!

“Hey!” he answered, probably far too chipper.

“You off work?”

“Yeah, on my way home.”

“Come meet me at Tony’s Diner, you know the one.”

“Well, yeesssss but what about Max?”

“I already took him out, left him with some of those kong toys you showed me. He’s good.”

“Alright,” he said, “I’ll be there in a jiffy!”

He changed directions with a spring to his step and the only reason he didn’t whistle as he walked was because he knew it would get him nothing but dirty looks. New Yorkers had cold, cold hearts.

When he entered the diner, he spotted Frank sitting at a booth and made his way over.

“Is this some sort of special occasion?” he asked, cheerfully as he slid on to the bench, eyes brightening when he spotted the two drinks on the table. Two milkshakes, one vanilla, one chocolate. He really hoped his was the vanilla.

“Just felt like a milkshake,” Frank said, pushing the vanilla milkshake towards him, “And you don’t own a blender.”

Foggy took it eagerly, taking one long pull on the straw. It had been sitting out just long enough to be a little melty, making it perfect for drinking.

“What are you going to get?” Foggy asked, perusing the menu. “Ooh, I think I might get the chicken fried steak. I haven’t had that in years.”

“Well, not the pot roast because you ruined me for that.”

“That’s right!” Foggy beamed, “I did.”

He had put his brand new slow cooker to use a few days ago, throwing a roast in it before he left for work. Frank had appreciated his hard work. Frank smiled back at him.

“Think I’ll just get a burger.”

The waitress came by then, greeting them with a smile and they put in their orders, Frank surprisingly charming to her. The food came quickly after that and they ate, Foggy attempting to explain to Frank just what it was he did all day and Frank making faces at words like tort and moot, which Foggy brought up mostly because the way they sounded made him want to laugh.

Once they were done, the bill paid and the tip left, they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Foggy checked his watch.

“It’s still early,” he said, “Want to wander around? Max can stand to wait a few hours.”

So they strolled around Hell’s Kitchen, going into whatever store happened to catch Foggy’s fancy and eventually they wandered into a used movie store.

“Oh, sweet, Legend on blu-ray, I’ve been looking for this. Tom Cruise in the eighties, you will be mine.”

“Maybe I’ll go find us some good movies,” Frank deadpanned and Foggy grinned at him.

“This is a good movie. ‘I’ve seen the mystics play there, once or twice but I knew they had a reason...’” he sang and Frank laughed, shoving at him as Foggy crooned.

“What the hell is that?” he asked and Foggy’s only answer was to sing the chorus.

He saw some action movies he wanted but to be honest, violent movies with Frank always seemed in poor taste. If Frank picked out an action movie to watch that was fine, Foggy just wasn’t comfortable doing it himself.

Instead, he perused the horror and comedy sections, grabbing a Melissa McCarthy movie and a few horror films he’d never heard of but were $1.99. After he paid, they made their way back to the sidewalk, bumping shoulders companionably. 

“Loved by the sun, loved by the sun,” Foggy was singing, badly, as they meandered down the street, past scaffolding and temporary fences put up by construction workers. It was darker here, emptier and they cut across an alleyway, ducking further into the shadows, Frank leading the way.

To Foggy, the guy came out of nowhere.  Coming up behind them with a low, hissed threat, making Foggy spin around in shock. Judging from the unimpressed look on Frank’s face, Frank had known he was there the whole time.

“Your wallets,” the guy said and then pulled out a gun.

Time seemed to slow down.

Foggy took an involuntary step back, bringing his shopping bag up against his chest as if the flimsy movie cases would protect him. Frank, on the other hand, took a step forward, hands coming up. The guy twitched, gun tipping away from Foggy and towards Frank.

Time sped up again.

Frank knocked the gun out of the guy’s hand, his fist coming up to smash against the guy’s face. The guy buckled, Frank punched him again.

Foggy had never been one to watch boxing or MMA fights. He had watched a few clips of Matt’s dad after they became roommates but not for very long; the whole thing had just made him sad. So he didn’t have a lot of experience with fighting, real fighting, not the stuff in movies where you knew it was fake and so could enjoy it to your heart’s content.

Foggy was, at heart, a pacifist. Watching someone get hurt was something he would never search out, never interested in. Some people liked to fight, some people cheered at MMA matches, some people enjoyed the rush of violence. To Foggy, it just seemed brutal.

And it was.

Violent and brutal but a work of art too. The way Frank moved, a machine, a beast, a man capable of taking someone apart. Foggy never considered that angle about it, how it prodded at something deep in his lizard brain. A whisper of something he didn’t like to think about.

He just watched as Frank deliberately, methodically and efficiently beat the shit out of the guy.

Punching, punching, punching over and over again and Foggy could hear the noises, flesh on bone, the wet slick sound of blood.

“Stop,” he said, barely above a whisper, still clutching his bag to his chest.

“Stop!”

Louder now but Frank didn’t hear him, face grim and unyielding, all his focus on the man beneath him. In his own little world, where violence was the only thing that mattered. The guy was on the ground now, limp, Frank crouched over him like an angry predator.

Foggy dropped his bag and strode to Frank, grabbing his elbow as it came up again from another punch. Felt Frank’s arm want to keep going and fought against it, put his own strength to pull in the opposite direction.

Frank blinked, shook his head like he was coming out of a daze. His eyes focused on Foggy and he looked a little confused.

“That’s enough,” Foggy said firmly, “He’s down Frank, he’s not getting back up.”

Frank looked down at the man, lying limply on the dirty ground, face a bloody, busted mess. He was still breathing, thank god, but no way was he getting up to do anything else.

“It’s enough,” Foggy repeated, and for a moment, Frank’s muscles tightened and Foggy braced his feet. But then Frank just relaxed, released, the fight going out of him. Foggy didn’t let him go though, just squeezed his arm and helped him up.

Foggy grimaced at the man on the ground and began to fumble for his phone.

“What you doing, hot shot?”

“He needs an ambulance,” Foggy said absent-mindedly, as he patted down his pockets. There! Why he put his phone in a different pocket every time, he didn’t know. Frank clapped a hand around his wrist and Foggy looked up startled.

When Foggy began to protest, Frank just shook his head, exasperated. With his free hand he reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun. Before Foggy could react, he fired three shots into the air in rapid fire succession.

“There. Somebody will call it in.”

He tucked his gun back into his shoulder holster, slipping his fingers off of Foggy’s wrist to take his hand and then led him out of the alleyway, stopping only to get Foggy’s bag of movies. They were about a block away when Foggy heard the first sirens and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Frank held his hand the whole way home, with the very hand he had used to beat a man unconscious.

As they made their way down the street, Foggy stared at Frank’s bloody knuckles, searching himself for the fear he should be feeling. During Frank’s trial, he had seen the aftermath of Frank’s crimes, the bodies, the bloodbaths. Pictures were different from real life though and this was the first time Foggy had ever been face to face with Frank’s brand of violence.

The night that Foggy stormed out of Matt’s apartment, furious and betrayed, he had googled the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and read every single news article that had come up. He had read about dislocated shoulders, busted jaws, broken arms. About a guy in a coma after landing in a dumpster. That’s what he had zeroed in on, the aftermath of Matt’s wrath, his rage. That’s what he had burned into his mind.

The destruction Matt had caused.

He hadn’t taken into account the destruction Matt’s victims had been causing when Matt stopped them. He hadn’t paid attention to the men and women who protested that the man in black had saved them when nobody else would. The little boy who said a kind man had taken him back to his daddy. He refused to hear the people saying that without the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, there would be nobody who cared. The people who said the cops didn’t help, that, in fact, the people wearing the uniform were even worse.

Foggy hadn’t wanted to see it.

Frank had made him see it.

So no, Foggy wasn’t afraid of the violence that lived under Frank’s skin anymore than he had been afraid of Matt. Foggy could never be afraid of Matt and he wondered now if Matt knew that. Foggy had never said, had assumed Matt would know, the way Matt had always known what Foggy was thinking before.

Before.

Before, when they never had to talk like real adults and after, when they had seemed incapable of it. Maybe that was why it was working out with Frank, because he and Foggy had started with a blank slate and Foggy had walked in with his eyes wide open.

They got back to his apartment and he unlocked the door with hands that didn’t shake very much but he knew that would change. After getting shot, he’d, well, he hadn’t felt _fine_ but he thought he had it under control.

When Matt came to him in the ambulance, only to want to leave, to abandon Foggy for his other identity, Foggy told himself it didn’t matter. He had it under control, he wasn’t dying, he wasn’t hysterical, why should Matt stay to babysit him? Why should Matt worry? Why should Matt care?

It was just Foggy, bleeding.

When Karen had hovered, unsure, he had been on a roll and sent her away too, because why not?

_I don’t need you._

The cruelest lie he had ever told himself.

It was only when everything was finished, cleaned up, stitched up, drugged up, lying alone in his hospital room that it hit. He had shook then, DA Reyes getting shredded to pieces over and over in his mind. Kept feeling the hit of the bullet, the tilt of the chair, the feel of the carpet under his cheek as he lay on the floor.

He knew he should have called his parents, unsure if they had been contacted, knew he should have reached out to somebody who hadn’t let him down.

Instead, he had cried into his hospital pillow, antiseptic smell burning in his nose. 

They stepped inside, Foggy pausing to greet Max as Frank took off his jacket.

“Max,” he said, and his voice broke and shook and Frank grabbed him, pulled him in. His hand on the back of Foggy’s neck, tucking Foggy against him, letting him sag against his strength.

“You’re okay,” Frank murmured, “You’re okay.”

Just said it over and over until Foggy pulled in a deep, shuddering breath, lifting his face from Frank’s shoulder.

“I’m okay,” he repeated, one trembling hand reaching up to wipe at his face. Frank made a soft crooning sound, Foggy had heard him use that on Max before, a noise to calm a skittish animal. It made him laugh a little, a watery sound.

“Let’s go sit down,” Frank said and led him down the hall to the living room. “You want a beer?”

Foggy nodded, Frank squeezing his shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen. Foggy took the moment to grab the box of tissues on the table, wiping his face and blowing his nose. Then he stripped out of his own jacket and kicked off his shoes, Max nosing at his legs. Good dog, could tell Foggy was upset and jumped up on his lap as soon as Foggy was on the couch. They cuddled until Frank came with his beer and Foggy shifted Max to the floor so Frank could sit next to him.

“I’m sorry,” Frank said, gruffly and Foggy gave him a puzzled look. “For what happened.”

“Not your fault. You weren’t the one trying to mug us.”

Frank made an aborted hand gesture.

“Not that, what you saw. What I did. You shouldn’t have to see that.”

Nothing centered Foggy like concern for another person. The panic rising in him calmed a little, redirected itself from an existential crisis to focus on Frank. It was always easier when Foggy didn’t have to think of himself, when he could take whatever was in his heart and press it to another human being.

“That didn’t bother me,” it came out without thought and he was surprised to see he meant it. “He would have hurt us, maybe even killed us. And if not us, somebody else, right? You were there to protect me. That’s what you were doing: protecting.”

DA Reyes dying in front of him right after begging for his help, so desperate and afraid.

Foggy lifted the beer in his hand to his mouth and took several long swallows.

“It wasn’t you,” Foggy said as soon as he had finished half the beer. “It was him and his gun. I’ve been shot before, didn’t really want to do that again.”

Frank frowned at that and reached out to press his hand Foggy’s shoulder. Foggy reached up, moved his hand down a little, pressing it against his scar through the layer of his shirt.

“Right there. Hurt like a son of a bitch, let me tell you.”

“I forgot,” Frank said, leaving his hand where it was and Foggy left his hand there too, his fingers pressing against his bloody knuckles, “I forgot you got shot at the DA’s.”

Frank sounded amazed by that and Foggy felt his mouth twist into a parody of a smile.

“Hey, my name barely even showed up in the paper, mostly I was just ‘one wounded’. It wasn’t important.”

Frank hissed between his teeth, getting up and shouldering his way into Foggy’s personal space, hunched over him so he filled his vision, one hand pressed against the sofa to hold him up. His other was still a warm heavy weight right on top where a bullet had ripped through Foggy’s skin and flesh.

Frank pressed their foreheads together.

“It was important,” Frank said, voice low, more of a growl than anything else. “You gonna forget it? Forget getting shot?”

Foggy shook his head, their skin rubbing together. Frank just pressed them closer together.

“It changes you, you know the pain now, don’t you? You know the pain but you got back up, knit yourself back together, didn’t you?”

Foggy stared at him with wide eyes, feeling breathless, the intensity of Frank’s words and stare pressing in deep. That burning conviction, that same passion that led Frank to beat a man in an alleyway, hunt down killers and exact his own brutal justice, that same passion directed at Foggy and it was no small thing.

“I did,” he whispered, not looking away from Frank, not flinching from what he saw in his eyes. “I did.”

Frank shut his eyes and his grip eased up, gentled but he didn’t move back.

“You’re important, yeah? You’re important. You survived.”

Foggy reached up, clasped the back of Frank’s neck, feeling the buzz of his hair prickle the palm of his hand.

“So did you,” he said quietly, watching Frank’s eyes blink open. “So did you and now you make sure other people survive.”

For a moment, just a moment, Foggy thought they were going to kiss. He could feel it thrumming in his blood, so close to Frank he could count his eyelashes. One heartbeat, two. The moment passed.

He pulled away because Frank was straight and in mourning and didn’t feel that way about Foggy. It didn’t matter how Foggy felt about him. Frank was too important to lose over something as small as a kiss.

“We good, hot shot?” Frank asked and Foggy was surprised to hear the thread of vulnerability in his voice. Like he was afraid too, to lose what they had.

“What? Yeah, yeah, Frank, we’re good. I get it. What you do. Somebody has to, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you google Elden Henson french braid, wonderful pictures will pop up!


	9. Chapter 9

The bar was tasteful, with low lighting, actual clean glasses and a svelte, handsome bartender who didn’t look like he wanted to kill them. Smooth jazz was piping in through hidden speakers and everybody was dressed like they had just stepped out of a prestigious law office. Which, in fact, he and Marci just had.

“Do you even like that?” Marci asked, watching with interest as Foggy attempted to choke down his Whiskey Sour.

“It’s good, it’s fine.”

“You ordered it because you thought it sounded mature.”

“No!” he denied, trying not to gag as he took another sip. “I’ve always liked Whiskey Sours. I have always had a sophisticated palate.”

“You’re an idiot. Why am I hanging out with you again?”

“I’m paying.”

“Touché,” she said, clinking her martini glass against his own cup. They chatted a bit, about work, about Marci’s parents, about Foggy’s parents. Every now and again, a guy would drift over, all expensive suit and slicked back hair. Marci would give them a dirty look and make a point of touching Foggy on the arm or hand, or lean a little closer.

“Losers,” Marci muttered with a flip of her hair, after nearly identical guy number three finally wandered off. “If I wanted to have sex with them, I’d let them know.”

She looked bored of these guys in general and Foggy couldn’t help but agree. He thought swimming with the sharks would be fun and exciting but after a while, it just felt like swimming with assholes. Which was a terrible mental image.  
   
“Is this how you imagined your life?” Foggy asked, curious, waving a hand to encompass the fancy digs. “Expensive drinks with colleagues, climbing the corporate ladder, how much money we have to spend on our clothes?”

“Yes,” Marci said, immediately and emphatically and Foggy laughed.

“Wow, no hesitation at all, huh?”

“What about you?”

The question made him pause, although he should have expected it. He had wanted to be a successful lawyer, so check on that. He had wanted to get his own pet, so check that too. He had his own place, which was nice enough. He was paying off his debts and squirreling some money aside every month so he could send his parents on a Caribbean cruise.

“Yeah, I guess?” he sounded unsure to his own ears. “I mean, maybe not exactly but close enough?”

Marci was eyeing his drink.

“What?”

“Just trying to figure out if you’re drunk enough for me to ask you about Matt.”

Foggy paused, picked up his Whiskey Sour and finished it off. He thought for a moment.

“No,” he declared and Marci pushed her martini over to him. While he drank that down, she flagged their bartender, who of course hastened to take her order. When Foggy had gone to get their drinks, the guy had ignored him for five minutes.

“Two Long Island Ice Teas,” she said, “heavy on every single alcohol that’s in it.”

That’s when the dedicated drinking part of the night commenced.

“He got back together with Karen,” Foggy said, tongue loosened enough by alcohol that words that would otherwise choke him made it out easily. “Made up with her but I don’t even get an email.”

“He’s an ass,” Marci said, a little louder than necessary. Alcohol had left a flush on her face and her eyes a little manic bright. “Always was. He was such a dick when we were dating.”

“You dated Matt?” Foggy exclaimed, stricken, and Marci rolled her eyes.

“No, when you and I were dating. I’d stop by to see if you were home and he was always such a little shit. ‘Oh no, Foggy’s not here, I have no idea where he’s at’, I’m pretty sure you were just in the shower a couple of those times.”

“Huh, are you sure? I mean, Matt’s a stickler for politeness. It’s that Catholic upbringing of his.”

“Foggy, you have always had a, hah! blind spot for Matt, he was a little shit to a lot of us but you never noticed. You were the only one he ever liked.”

“He did like me, didn’t he?” Foggy murmured and that was what his life was missing. Ever since he met Matt, any future he had envisioned had included him in one way or another. Best friends, colleagues or even, late at night where no one could judge him, he’d dream of them being lov-

“I alway thought you and Matt would end up together.”

The moment she said it, she looked horrified, bringing her hand to her mouth like the words had slipped out without permission. They probably had; Marci had the worst word vomit while drunk than any other person he knew.

Before she could stutter out an apology, Foggy smiled crookedly at her, enough alcohol in his system to soften the blow.

“I didn’t, not really. Always out of my league, like you. But you were kind enough to give me a chance.”

He gave her a double thumbs up and she swatted at his hands, or at least tried to. She missed one of them.

“You’re out of _his_ league. He doesn’t deserve you. You’re a successful lawyer! You own a dog, you’ve got great hair.”

“He knew,” Foggy said. “The whole time he knew I was in love with him but he was pretending so not to hurt my feelings.”

Now, Matt had never outright said it, but he didn’t have to. Foggy can still remember standing in Matt’s dim apartment, falling apart from all the lies.

_Are you telling me that since I’ve known you, any time I wasn’t telling the truth, you knew?_

Every time Foggy’s heart skipped a beat, every time he blushed, hell, every time he got aroused, Matt had known. 

_And what, you just played along?_

Had known and acted like it was nothing, the kindest, longest, cruelest let down Foggy had ever experienced. Foggy had thought he’d known humiliation. He had been wrong. Maybe that was why he was so quick to go back to acting like nothing had changed. So they could go back to ignoring the elephant in the room except now the elephant was joined with a dude dressed up as the devil who liked to punch people.

“I suck at being an adult,” Foggy realized and Marci snorted, listing hard into his shoulder.

“Newsflash, Foggy-Bear, none of us know what the hell we’re doing. I just fake it better than you. Bartender!” she shouted, suddenly and loud enough to make Foggy jump, “Get us some more Long Island Ice Teas!”

A couple more drinks in, they decided it was time to head home. Foggy felt warm and fuzzy, definitely drunk but not sloppy. Thank god for his flab, he thought, patting his stomach fondly. The extra weight made it easier to avoid getting completely wasted.

“I have to pee first,” Marci announced grandly, getting to her feet and wobbling only slightly. “Stay right here, don’t go anywhere.”

Foggy concentrated on watching her go, just to make sure nobody bothered her on the way to the ladies because, man, dudes could be really sucky. Once she was gone, he flagged down the bartender, asked for a bottle of water and then closed their tab.

He cracked open the water and took a drink, figuring it might help him sober up enough to get home without falling on his face.

“You here by yourself?”

Blinking blearily, Foggy looked up to find a guy smiling down at him. He was handsome, with sharp features and dark hair that curled over his forehead.

“Uh, no, I’m here with Marci,” Foggy blurted out and the guy’s smile faded.

“Oh, sor-“

“Just a friend!” Foggy said, way too loud because alcohol was a blessing and a curse. “I’m bisexual!”

The guy laughed a little but it was kind, a smile blooming across his face.

“I’m Jaime,” the guy said, flashing perfect white teeth, “I am not bisexual but I am gay.”

“That’s great,” Foggy said, because it was. “I’m Foggy and I’m kinda drunk and also about to leave.”

“Oh, really?” Jaime said, looking disappointed and Foggy hastened to say,

“But we can talk until my friend gets back.”

Jaime slid into the stool Marci had just vacated and he smelled good, like some sort of expensive cologne that Foggy couldn’t even name because he had no idea what brands of cologne were expensive. He hadn’t worn cologne because it had bothered Matt’s nose and now he just wasn’t in the habit.

“I work in finance,” Jamie was saying, “It is exactly as boring as you think it is.”

“Well, I’m lawyer, so I guess I don’t have much room to talk.”

They had chatted only briefly when Marci came back, eyeing Jamie carefully.

“Hello,” she said, sounding vaguely suspicious, like she wasn’t sure if he had been there when she left. Jamie smiled at her disarmingly.

“You must be Marci, yes? Foggy mentioned you.”

“Did he?” she asked and obviously meant to tilt her head and ended up listing a bit to the side.

“Right,” Foggy said and stood up, careful as the room spun a little. Sitting down always felt more sober than standing up. 

“I better get her home,” he said apologetically. Jamie looked disappointed but understanding.

“No, man. It’s cool. Make sure she’s safe, I get it. Do you come here often? Maybe I’ll see you again?”

“Oh yeah, sure. I come here after work, sometimes.”

Sort of a lie? This was their first time to this particular bar but Foggy had no problem declaring it their new hang-out.

“We love it here,” Marci said and patted Foggy’s arm. “Don’t we, Foggy-Bear?”

“Foggy-Bear,” Jamie repeated while Foggy blushed. “Here.”

Jamie pulled a fancy metal case from his pocket and plucked a card from within it and handed it to Foggy. It had his name and number on it and Foggy slipped it into his own pocket.

They said their goodbyes and then he and Marci were sailing out the door, clutching at each other, Foggy a bit more steady than Marci but that might have just been because Foggy wasn’t wearing heels.

He waved down a taxi, trying not to giggle as he and Marci wobbled on the sidewalk.

“Too drunk to fuck, Foggy-Bear,” Marci trilled in his ear as they poured into the taxi, “Don’t go home with strangers, it’s dangerous. Even if he had a cute bubble butt.”

“He did,” Foggy said wistfully before giving the driver Marci’s address. Jamie. He repeated the name in his head, mouthed the syllables. Jamie, who was attractive and attracted to Foggy. Part of Foggy wanted to get Marci home and then head right back to the bar. Part of him knew that was probably a bad idea.

Instead, he made sure Marci got home safe and then made it back to his own apartment.

He was very carefully attempting to put his key in the lock for the fifth time when the doorknob turned all by itself. It swung open and there was Frank, looking very unimpressed.

“Frank!” Foggy exclaimed, staggering forwards and wrapping his arms around him. “You’re here!”

“Frank,” Foggy whispered very loudly into his ear. “I am drunk.”

Frank sighed deeply enough that Foggy felt his shoulders move. Foggy blew a raspberry against his cheek. Frank responded by dragging him inside so he could shut and lock the door, grumbling only a little as Foggy clung to him. The last of the Long Island Ice Teas had soaked into his system on the ride home and he felt drunker than he had at the bar.

“Water didn’t help at all,” he complained to Frank and Frank ignored him, opting instead to herd Foggy down the hall to his bedroom. Foggy tried to help but mostly hindered, dragging his feet, flailing his arms and he was pretty sure he elbowed Frank in the gut at one point.

Despite all this Foggy found himself sat on his bed, Frank kneeling down to pull of his shoes.

“Oooh,” he said, “Good idea.”

He didn’t want to sleep in his clothes, that would be terrible. He began to struggle with his clothes, managing to get his suit jacket off and held it up triumphantly before hurling it into the corner of the room. Frank glanced over his shoulder at the pile it made.

"You're going to be pissed about the wrinkles tomorrow," he said, slipping Foggy's foot free from his shoe.

"No, I’m not," Foggy said indignantly, prodding Frank's chest with one socked foot. "I live wild and free."

"You cry over your dry cleaning bills."

Foggy chose to ignore him, falling back on his bed, arms starfished out.

Frank sighed and Foggy heard him leave the room and began to squirm his way up the bed, Max joining him to press a wet nose to his cheek before settling at the end of the bed to sleep. Sleep. Sleep sounded so good and he shut his eyes.

Next thing he knew, Frank was prodding him to sit up, ignoring Foggy’s protests to press a bottle of water to his lips.

“Drink some water, hot shot, c’mon.”

Foggy tilted his head back obediently, swallowing the water Frank poured down his throat. After he had drank enough water to appease Frank, Frank helped Foggy with the rest of his clothes, leaving him in his undershirt and boxers.

It was as Frank was tucking Foggy into bed that Foggy blurted out,

“There was a guy, he had the greatest ass.”

Foggy shaped it in the air, sketching it’s bubble form as best he could even though his arms didn’t want to work right. Frank twitched.

“Oh yeah?” Frank said, voice low and dangerous. Foggy didn’t notice, too wrapped up in visions of bubble butts.

“I was thinking about going home with him, you know? You said I should get laid, I could’ve, I could’ve.”

“His ass...” Foggy sighed, eyes drifting shut. Frank shook him until his eyes opened again. “Ow.”

“Why didn’t you?”

And if Foggy had been less drunk, he might have wondered at Frank’s tone of voice, at the look on his face. Foggy, however, was very drunk.

“I thought you might be waitin’ for me,” he slurred instead, already drifting off to sleep. “Tha’s more important, right?”

*

His alarm going off that morning was the saddest moment of Foggy’s life. He groaned, fumbling at his phone until he turned it off. Eight am. He dropped his head back down wanting to go back to bed but it was Saturday. He had to take Max to the doggy rehab to go play.

He dragged himself out of bed and into the shower, moaning as the hot water rained down on his head. This was all Marci’s fault, vile temptress. Vile, wonderful, beautiful temptress. Despite the hangover pounding behind his eyes, he found himself glad he went out last night.

It had been nice to be able to talk to someone. Marci would judge him but Foggy was used to her judging him; it was a cornerstone of their friendship. Honestly, at this point, he felt weird when Marci didn’t judge him.

It still hurt to think about Matt, to talk about Matt but it hurt in a different way. Before, just thinking about Matt, felt like it was killing Foggy, strangling him, dragging him down. Now, it hurt but like ripping off a bandaid and letting the wound air out. Like he was healing, instead of festering in the dark.

Foggy sighed as he dressed. It would still be a while before he could think of Matt and not feel that pang of sadness but he was getting there. Getting a little better when he had spent so much of his time just spinning in place, refusing to move forward but unable to go back.

The power of Long Island Ice Teas, he mused as he shuffled into the living room when Frank, who had apparently been sitting on his couch this whole time, said,

“I’ll go with you with Max.”

Foggy blinked, squinted, cocked his head.

“Huh?”

“To the dog rehab, you taking him right?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.”

Foggy shook his head to clear it because he was still feeling a bit fuzzy.

“It’s just, I know the baseball cap of concealment works when we’re walking around but you’re going to have to interact with the people running the place. What if they recognize you?”

“Most people think I’m dead.”

“The police said you were dead but they never found your body. I’m pretty sure you pop up in the tabloids every now and again.”

“As a ghost. They keep saying the docks are haunted. It helps out actually. You’d be surprised at the number of criminals who are superstitious.”

“Not really,” Foggy said, making a face. Look how quick people cowered before the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Matt had run out and gotten a devil costume pretty damn quick, all things considered.  
Foggy ate some toast and drank some coffee while musing on what Frank would look like in a red bodysuit. Pretty good, probably.

Maybe this was how fetishes were born.

“I’m going to get my shoes on, could you pour some coffee in my travel mug? I’m going to need extra caffeine this morning.”

As Foggy put on his shoes and slipped on his jacket, he suddenly remembered Jamie giving him his card. He searched his pockets, rummaging fruitlessly and coming up empty.

“What?” Frank asked, having already hooked Max into his harness, Foggy’s coffee set on the shelf were Foggy set his keys.

“I met a guy last night,” Foggy said absently, trying his pockets one last time. “He gave me his card but I can’t find it.”

“It probably fell out of your pocket, you were pretty drunk. Maybe you lost it?” Frank suggested and Foggy nodded glumly.

“Yeah, probably.”

Damn, he hoped Jamie didn’t think he was blowing him off. He would just have to keep visiting that bar on the off chance Jamie reappeared. Jamie really was that hot. 

They went out the door and waited on the sidewalk and when the taxi pulled up, Frank opened the door and gestured Foggy in. Max clambered in next and finally Frank slid in, Foggy giving the driver the address.

He sipped his coffee, content to ride in silence until Frank cleared his throat.

“So you met a guy?”

Foggy turned to him, a little startled. Didn’t seem like something Frank would want to talk about but he couldn’t read Frank’s face, Frank busy making kissy faces at Max.

“Yeah, right as we were leaving though. But I think he goes to that bar often, so maybe I’ll see him again.”

“He got a name?”

“Jamie,” Foggy said, “Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. He works in finance.”

“Sounds like a jackass.”

“Because he works in finance?” Foggy asked, incredulously, “Because that is all you know about him.”

Frank shrugged.

“Fancy bar, right?”

“Well, yeah. How’d you know?”

“You went with Marci. She doesn’t strike me as the type to slum.”

Oh, right. Frank’s surveillance of him had included dossiers on just about everybody he came into contact with. It really should bother Foggy more than it did.

“Fancy bar, he gives you a damn card-“

“What the hell is wrong with his card? I have a card, it says I’m a lawyer on it!”

“You hand out your card when you’re trying to score?”

“Well, no,” Foggy admitted even though it felt like a concession to Frank’s insane logic. “I usually ask for their number and punch it into my phone.”

Most times, Foggy forgot he had cards, crisp and clean and proclaiming he worked for HC&B. Even if he did remember, he probably would feel a little bit like a dick handing them out to a potential date. Like, hey! check out my salary, it’s way better than my face!

“And just how drunk were you when he started hitting on you?”

“How could you possibly know that?” Foggy demanded and Frank just leveled a look at him.

“You said right as you were leaving and you came home pretty drunk, hot shot.”

“Damn you and your observational skills,” Foggy muttered before turning to stare resolutely out the window.

“I’m depressed now, you’ve made me depressed.”

Whatever Frank’s response to that would have been, Foggy never learned because their taxi pulled to a stop and their driver announced their arrival. Foggy paid as Frank got Max out of the car and by the time Foggy got out, Frank was already opening the door to the rehab center and going in.

Foggy suddenly remembered Frank was a wanted criminal and cursed under his breath, jogging to catch up. Fortunately, nobody was at the front desk and Foggy was just thinking that maybe they could sneak into the yard without anybody seeing them when Colin came walking in from the back.

“Foggy, hey -” Colin stumbled a bit as he came up, obviously surprised that Foggy had another human being with him.

“Colin!” Foggy said, more chipper than needed because he was still nervous as hell about Frank. “How are you?”

“I’m good, Fog, I’m good...” Colin trailed off, his eyes drifting to where Frank stood with his arms crossed.

“And this is my friend...” Foggy flubbed, because they hadn’t exactly decided on a secret identity. Shit, shit, Frank was going to get arrested and -

“Eddie,” Frank said, “Nice to meet you.”

He didn’t exactly sound happy to meet Colin and Colin blinked, just staring at him.

“I look like Frank Castle,” Frank said, as Foggy gawped. “I get it all the time.”

“Oh!” Colin laughed nervously, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “Sorry, didn’t mean to stare.”

“Nah, it’s good.”

And then Frank began to herd Foggy away, one hand on the small of his back. Colin trailed after them, looking perplexed and Foggy tried to make his face as apologetic as possible, what with Frank hurrying them away like the grass was going to shrivel up and die if they didn’t get out to the yard as quickly as possible.

“Bye, Colin!” Foggy called out over his shoulder then turned to Frank. “I am not that hung over, I can walk on my own, you know.”

“Mmm,” was all Frank said and he didn’t drop his hand until they were on the far side of the yard. Max was racing around and bounding back their way. Frank leaned back against the fence as Foggy got out the tennis ball, showing it to Max who barked excitedly.

He threw it a few times, aware of Frank looming behind like some sort of creepy thing.

Foggy couldn’t take it and surreptitiously glanced over his shoulder at Frank. He was staring off intently and Foggy followed his line of sight. Colin, by the door and he was staring back at Frank. Great, Foggy thought, making a face, just his luck. Colin probably had a thing for Frank now.

“Here, gimmie,” Frank said, reaching out and grabbing Foggy by the back of the neck and reeling him in. Foggy went, handing Frank the tennis ball.

“Careful,” he said, aware of Frank’s hand still on his neck, his thumb brushing along Foggy’s throat. “It’s covered in slobber.”

Frank finally dropped his hand and Foggy felt like he could breath again, watching as Frank wound back his arm and let the ball fly. Max took off like a shot, the ball flying far into the distance.

“Oh sure,” Foggy said, “Show off your superior throwing arm.”

Foggy wasn’t sure if Frank was here to play with Max or mess with Foggy, not with the way he kept wrestling with Foggy, throwing his arm around him and dragging him around. It was like Foggy couldn’t take a step without bumping into Frank, despite the fact they had a giant park to move about in.

The whole hour was like that, Frank never more than a few steps away and if he had been anyone else, Foggy would have called him clingy. But since this was Frank Castle, Foggy kept his mouth shut. No way in hell was he telling The Punisher he was being clingy.

It was only when they stopped for lunch that Foggy realized that Colin hadn’t given him a goodbye hug.

*

“I’m not watching another one of those movies.”

“The Legend of Boggy Creek is a classic. You’ll love it, I promise.”

“No, absolutely not, we’re going to watch a movie that actually makes sense.”

They began to scrabble for the remote, Foggy holding it over his head while they wrestled on the couch. He was laughing, tipping over on his side in one last desperate attempt to keep Frank from getting the remote. Frank followed, stretched out on top of Foggy, one hand trying for the remote. And then Frank stopped, letting his full weight drop on top of Foggy, wrapping one hand around the back of Foggy’s neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

As moves went, it was smooth as fuck.

Foggy kissed back without thinking and there was nothing hesitant about it, just their mouths meshing together like they had kissed a thousand times before. Frank knew how to kiss, that was for damn sure, confident and eager like he wanted it so he was taking it.

The remote clattered to the floor and suddenly the world came back. He tore his mouth away, shoving Frank away and sitting up. Frank was staring at him, startled, a flush across the bridge of his nose, his lips still parted, wet and slick. Foggy desperately wanted to kiss him again.

“What the hell was that?” he shrieked instead, clutching at the top of his shirt like a romance novel heroine protecting her virtue.

“I kissed you.”

“Yeah, I got that part! What I don’t get is why!”

“Because I wanted to.”

Foggy was at loss because Frank made it sound so reasonable, like of course Frank wanted to kiss him so of course Frank would. 

“Do you even like guys?” he asked desperately, because last time he checked, Foggy was the only one who was openly bisexual.

“I don’t know.”

Foggy gaped at him. Frank shrugged.

“How can you not know if you like guys?” Foggy demanded, “How can you kiss me and not know if you like guys?”

“I liked watching you.”

His voice was low, a rasp against all of Foggy’s senses. Oh. Wow. He could feel the heat start in his belly, crawling up his spine. He remembered laying on his bed, naked and spent and finding Frank’s eyes on him.

“Uh, well,” Foggy licked his lips, “This is a bad idea.”

Frank must have heard the acquiescence in his tone because he relaxed and Foggy hadn’t even noticed how tense he had become until the tension was gone. Frank had been nervous about this, nervous about Foggy. Knowing that made Foggy’s fears and uncertainty fade away because it meant that Frank was taking this seriously. That Frank had thought it through and decided Foggy was worth it.

Foggy leaned towards him and Frank met him half way and they were kissing, just diving right back in as if he and Foggy had spent their whole lives kissing. Foggy grabbed at Frank’s waist, wasted no time tugging his shirt out of his pants, fingers wiggling their way under the cloth. Finally, he was going to get to touch those abs.

Frank was hot to the touch, smooth except for little breaks that Foggy realized were scars and the rasp of the hair of his treasure trail. Shit, he felt good, just this little bit of groping but this was Frank, Frank who Foggy had spent the better part of a year entwining his life around.

Foggy attacked Frank’s zipper with gusto, tugging at the button and unzipping until he could reach in. Frank was hard, blood hot against his palm, cock jerking at the first touch of Foggy’s fingers as Foggy pulled him out. Carefully, making sure not to catch him on the teeth of his zipper.

Frank was doing the same, showing no hesitation in just reaching into the waistband of Foggy’s sweats and tugging his cock free. It made Foggy whimper and shudder and squeeze his own hand tighter around Frank’s dick.

Frank was thick and plump, perfect in Foggy’s hand and Foggy was just thinking about ducking down and taking him into his mouth when Frank stroked his own callused hand around Foggy’s cock.

Fuck, hand jobs it was.

“Oh geez,” he groaned, pulling away from Frank’s mouth to pant desperately against his jaw. Frank chuffed out laugh, leaning back to spit on his palm before wrapping his big, warm, hand back around Foggy’s dick.

“That should be gross,” Foggy said, “That should be gross but I am so turned on right now.”

“Should’ve known you’d be a talker.”

“Of course I’m a talker,” Foggy moaned, even as his toes curled. Frank was good with his hands, absolutely nobody was surprised. “Was that even up for debate?”

He licked his own palm, not fighting the smirk at the way Frank’s eyes zeroed in on his mouth. Foggy was good with his mouth, in just about anyway that counted and he got his palm nice and slick before dropping his hand back down to Frank’s cock.

They went back to kissing, or at least tried to, kept getting distracted by what their hands were doing. In the end, Frank threw one leg over Foggy’s and Foggy dropped his head to Frank’s shoulder so he could bite at him through his shirt.

“Oh shit,” Foggy gasped, “I dreamed about your calluses, you have no idea, A plus, I swear-“

“Fuck.”

A single word compared to Foggy’s rambling monologue but so heartfelt Foggy could feel it in his bones. And in his boner. He opened his mouth to share that witticism when Frank twisted his fist around the head of Foggy’s cock and Foggy whined instead, high in his throat, curling harder into Frank, the top of his head butting against Frank’s chin. Foggy’s own fingers stumbled over Frank’s cock, trembling and clumsy. It was getting so hard to focus and he _wanted_ to focus on that beautiful cock, really he did, it deserved all his attention, it was an excellent cock, one of the best Foggy had ever gotten his hands on-

Frank snorted and Foggy realized he was saying all that out loud.

“Just lie back and enjoy it,” Frank muttered, knocking Foggy’s hand off his own cock with a willpower Foggy would be in awe of if he currently wasn’t getting the best hand job of his life. Frank pushed and prodded until Foggy was leaning back against the couch, legs spread as far as they could go with his sweats still tangled around his legs.

Frank was working his cock like a pro, which made sense, most men were pros when it came to stroking dick but still.

“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come,” Foggy babbled, rocking his hips up into Frank’s firm grip, “I’m gonna come, it’s gonna be a mess, is that okay-“

Frank started laughing but to Foggy’s unending gratitude, his hand didn’t stop.

“I know what it’s like to come, hot shot, don’t worry about it.”

“I know, I know,” Foggy said frantically, so close to coming it almost hurt, “But it’s different when it’s somebody else, I don’t want you to freak out-”

“How are you still talking?” Frank demanded, his hand working up and down Foggy’s cock. Frank leaned forward, kissed him hard and then said,

“Just come for me, hot shot.”

So Foggy did, his whole body locking up, his back arching, his hands clutching at Frank’s shoulders. It was as messy as he told Frank it would be, come slicking Frank’s fingers as he kept pumping, kept working Foggy through it because Frank was a man built to follow through.

“Yeah, yeah,” Foggy muttered, still shivering and Frank was so good to him, just letting him take his time even though his cock must be screaming for attention. He bit his lip, stretched his whole body out once just to settle in the pleasure then he was reaching for Frank.

Reaching for Frank’s dick, red and angry looking, precome sliding down the sides the perfect lube for Foggy’s hand. Now it was Frank’s turn to fall back, to go loose and easy as Foggy worked him over.

“The perfect dick, I swear,” Foggy muttered, shifting so he could get a better grip. “So fat and thick, you have fuck me with it, okay, you have to, I’ll cry if you don’t-“

Frank reached out blindly, head tipped back, to grab Foggy’s neck, just holding on, fingers squeezing whenever Foggy got a particularly good stroke in.

He rubbed his thumb right where the head met the shaft and Frank groaned, his cock pulsing and coming and Foggy whimpered with him in sympathetic pleasure. Foggy finally shut up so he could just watch, take in the way the muscles in Frank’s stomach jumped, the way his hips fucked up into Foggy’s fist in uncontrollable twitches.

He was beautiful.

Frank’s hand slipped from his neck to wrap around Foggy’s shoulder, pulling him close so they could kiss, slow and lazy as they both came down from the high. It took a while, Frank getting his breath back before Foggy, nuzzling at his mouth while Foggy panted helplessly. The kissing was almost better than the hand jobs, pure affection and Foggy had gone without for so long, pressing skin to skin with another human being.

Just reveling in the fact that he got to touch while his heart slowed down to more acceptable levels.

“That was really good,” he said after one last kiss. “No, seriously, really, really good.”

Frank looked amused, tangled there with Foggy, both their cocks still hanging out, soft and limp, from their pants. Foggy leaned forward, vague plan of biting Frank’s chin just because he could when movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

“Oh my god,” Foggy groaned, burying his face in Frank’s neck. “Max saw the whole thing.”

Sitting next to the sofa, ears perked up and tongue lolling out, Max yipped in agreement.


	10. Chapter 10

The weirdest thing about having sex with Frank, well other than the fact that he was now in a romantic relationship with a murderous vigilante, was just how touchy-feely it made him. Foggy had never realized just how touch starved Frank was, Frank had always radiated this ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe even when they were friendly. Frank hadn’t seemed like a guy who _needed_ touch.

But it was like one hand job had opened the floodgates. The moment Frank got to the apartment, he was touching Foggy. And it wasn’t even sexual, just cuddling on the couch or Frank brushing his fingers through Foggy’s hair as they passed in the hallway. Pressing a closed mouth kiss to his mouth just to say hello.

Foggy was more than willing to admit he soaked up the affection like a sponge. He’d always been an affectionate guy, loved hugging, cuddling, roughhousing. Touch had always been an important part of Foggy’s vocabulary, one he had pretty much been reduced to showering on Max before Frank came into his life.

Sex-wise, they hadn’t done much besides make out, grope and hand jobs, Foggy terribly aware that in all things man on man action, Frank was a virgin. That was cool with Foggy, he wasn’t the kind of asshole to pressure someone for sex, even if that person wasn’t capable of killing him with his pinkie. He had no problem letting Frank set the pace, although Foggy did have a set of his own rules.

Rule number one? Max could not be in the room when they were having sexy times.

Rule number two... well, actually, that was pretty much it for Foggy’s rules. Foggy was down for a lot of things when it came to sex and if Frank had some weird, freaky, kinks, Foggy figured they’d deal with that when they got there. Frank seemed pretty vanilla so far though.

Frank had also stopped sleeping on the couch, taking his place next to Foggy on the nights he stayed. Foggy could admit, he probably liked that change most of all. It even edged out the orgasms, if only by a little bit.

Right now, Foggy was watching Max slowly sneaking his way up on the bed, hunched down as if that somehow made him invisible.

“Do you think he realizes we can totally see him?” Foggy asked sleepily, Frank’s fingers combing soothingly in his hair. “I don’t know why he acts like he’s banned from the bed.”

“You locked him out earlier,” Frank reminded him and Foggy snorted.

“I’m not going to let him watch us bone.”

Max was completely on the bed now, peering at them out of the corner of his eye before deciding he was safe. He curled up on the foot of the bed, tucking his nose into his paws and shutting his eyes. He’d be asleep in no time and would slowly uncurl throughout the night until he was fully stretched out and taking up as much room as possible.

“Maybe I should get a bigger bed.”

Frank shook his head.

“Nah, this is good, hot shot. Cozy.”

Foggy yawned, let his eyes drift shut.

“G’night,” Foggy mumbled, Frank’s heart a steady beat underneath his ear.

“Night,” Frank said and together they slept.

*

“You better have ordered me chicken wings, Foggy-Bear, I’m starving,” Marci said, as she slid into the booth. It had been Foggy’s turn to pick a place to go to lunch and since Marci had been out meeting with a client, she had met him there.

“I did and I ordered you a root beer float,” he said, grandly gesturing to the drink. She reached for it immediately.

It had been a few weeks since they really had made time for each other, Marci busy with a new client, Foggy working on his own cases. It was always busy at HC&B but some times were more busy than others.

Marci was staring at him.

“You got laid,” she said then squinted at him while he sputtered. “With a guy.”

“What are you, a witch?” he demanded, feeling his face burn. Marci rolled her eyes.

“That would be the shittiest magic power,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “I’d never get into the Avengers with that.”

“Instead of Scarlet Witch, you’d be, uhm Sex-Guessing Witch? No, that doesn’t sound right. Would you dress sexy though?”

“Don’t distract me into costume design. I’ve spent way too much time on those doll maker sites to begin with. You got laid, Foggy-Bear. Was it the bubble butt guy? I thought you lost his card.”

“No, it wasn’t that guy.”

Marci had tried to get Foggy to go back to that bar but fortunately, the spate of busy work had distracted her from his reluctance and kept her from questioning him too closely. But now, he knew her well enough to know she wasn’t going to let it go.

“One night stand,” Foggy lied, throwing up a silent apology to Frank up into the ether. “Said his name was Eddie but I think that was just an alias.”

“Closeted and/or married,” she said sympathetically then clucked her tongue when Foggy winced. 

“Neither! Probably. I mean, he wasn’t shady or anything. Maybe he had an embarrassing name.”

“More embarrassing than Foggy? I am assuming you used your real name or were you making up aliases too? Let me guess. Brock? Griffin? Tristan? Oh my god, I forgot about your middle name, did you tell him to call you _Percy_?”

“I hate you, I hate you so much. I never should have told you my middle name. For your information, I gave him my real name.”

She quirked a brow at him and he threw his hands up.

“I consider Foggy my real name. I don’t think anybody has called me Franklin in over ten years.”

Maybe even longer. To be honest, anybody calling him Franklin would probably get a blank stare until he remembered that was actually his birth name.

Marci sighed, picking up her spoon to get some ice cream from her float.

“At least one of us is getting laid,” she said, “I’m as career minded as the best of them but work has been insane. I could use some relaxation.”

“Book a spa day?” Foggy suggested and Marci rolled her eyes.

“Not unless it was spa that offered happy endings,” she said, just as their waiter arrived with their food. She laughed at the horrified face Foggy made then turned to smile sweetly at the waiter.

“The chicken wings are mine,” she said coquettishly, thanking the waiter when he placed her plate in front of her. Foggy’s hamburger got set down rather haphazardly as the waiter was far more interested in Marci. Typical really. Whether he was with Frank or Marci, the waitstaff was always more interested in them than him. Which was total bullshit. Foggy could be totally charming.

After the waiter finally drifted off, the conversation ended for a moment as they dug into their meals. Foggy would never understand how sitting at a desk reading files could make him so damn hungry. Marci at least had the excuse of running around the city in those fabulous heels of her’s.

Eddie, Foggy thought as he bit into his hamburger. He’d never get to tell Marci about Frank, not without layers and layers of lies and half-truths. Could never introduce them, never mention Frank in passing. Could never admit to a relationship because Marci would want to meet, to vet the guy that stole Foggy’s heart. She pretended not to care but she would want to know that whoever Foggy was dating was treating him good.

Just like anybody Marci ever got serious with, Foggy would want to meet.

Because that’s what friends did, and Marci was his friend, the last one he had left. And he’d have to keep lying to her for the rest of his life.

Marci was chatting away, oblivious to Foggy’s thoughts, talking about some legal precedent she hoped to take advantage of. Trusting that Foggy wouldn’t lie to her even though he’d been lying to her since the beginning.

He pushed his plate away, food suddenly tasteless. He was mostly done anyway, just a sliver of his hamburger left and a few fries. 

It was weird, Frank’s secret friendship had felt like an honor, something special Foggy held in the palm on his hand and shielded from other people. But now, it was slowly hitting him that Foggy would never get to share Frank with anybody, they would never get to hang out and shoot the breeze. For god’s sake, if any shooting was involved, it would be Frank with a gun.

It wasn’t fair. Foggy was happy and Frank was great and Foggy wanted people to know both those things. Wow. A few hand jobs and some frottage and suddenly Foggy wanted to sing from the rooftops. He was such a sap.

“Foggy, Foggy. Franklin Percy. Are you listening to me?”

Foggy blinked, brought back by Marci staring at him in vague annoyance.

“What? Yes! That sounds like a brilliant legal maneuver.”

She rolled her eyes but her expression was fond and she launched right back into what she had been saying. I can be a good friend, he thought, in all the other ways that count. I can. He refused to wonder if that was the same exact thing Matt told himself, all those years he was lying to Foggy.

He put a smile on his face and listened to everything Marci had to say.

Later, sitting in his office, manfully brooding, Foggy’s phone buzzed in his pocket. When he fished it out, it was to find it was his burner phone and he flipped it open.

A photo of Max greeted him, mouth open and grinning, grainy and terrible because these phones were seriously crappy. Below it, Frank had typed: _took him for a walk and got him his own hotdog_

Foggy smiled down at the picture, touching a finger to the screen.

Foggy was happy and Frank was great. It was enough. It had to be.  
   
*

“Maybe it’s time for another sexy self-defense lesson,” Foggy said, waggling his eyebrows and Frank rolled his eyes.

“I told you to stop calling it that.”

If Foggy had entertained the notion that Frank would go easier on him now that they were having sex, he would have been incredibly wrong. Frank was just as stern a taskmaster as before, having no compunction at all at leaving Foggy with bruises. Just the same steady teacher he had always been. As weird as it sounded, it actually made Foggy feel better.

Frank was Frank was Frank. Reliable and unchanging.

On the plus side, Foggy now had the option to coax him into a make out session once they were done. An option he had exercised every single time.

“Say I grab you by your shirt,” Frank reached out and clenched a fist on the collar of Foggy’s shirt, “What do you do?”

“Get your hand off?” Foggy guessed, one hand coming up to tug at Frank’s fist. It didn’t move. Foggy brought up his other hand and tried to pry him off. Nothing doing.

“Harder than it looks, huh? See, the instinct is to try to get me to let go, what you really want to do is hold on. Go on, grab my hand and hold it to your chest.”

Foggy obediently did as told.

“Good, that’s a nice, firm grip. Now you got me in place, I can’t step away. What next?”

Foggy pursed his lips.

“Hmm... I could hit you, my right hand is free. Face? No, stomach.”

“Good. Now, guy can do one of two things. He might just double over, that’s when you knee him in the chest or face. If he takes the punch, he’ll probably swing at you and that’s when you block him.”

Frank mimed swinging up at Foggy’s head and Foggy put his elbow up quickly, blocking the soft blow.

“Oh,” he said brightly, swinging his arm out of the block and gently chopping Frank on the neck. “That’s what I do next, right?”

Frank laughed.

“Yeah, hot shot. You got it. Now, let’s do it again.”

They did it over and over again, a little bit faster each time until Foggy was comfortable with it. Then they switched over to some of the other moves from previous lessons because Frank said repetition was the key to everything. You had to let it become instinct because in a fight, you rarely had time to think. Reaction was what would save you or damn you. It had been a pretty impressive speech.

By the time they were done, they were both a little sweaty, Foggy was pleased to see. He was giving Frank at least a little bit of a work out, which was pretty much the best he could hope for. Frank helped him off the floor and then went into the kitchen to grab some water while Foggy headed for the bathroom, splashing water on his face to remove the sweat. He made a few faces in the mirror, flexing his non-existent muscles before wandering off to the bedroom.

He sniffed at his shirt and made another face. Ugh, that was terrible, why did he have to sweat so much? Did he have extra sweat glands or something? He was just heading to his dresser when Frank appeared in the doorway, slipping into the room and shutting the door.

“It’ll be totally different if I ever actually have to hit someone,” Foggy mused aloud as he stripped off his sweaty shirt, “I mean, it’s going to hurt, right? I’ve seen your knuckles after a fight.”

He tossed the shirt into the laundry basket that had appeared in his bedroom several months ago. He had the one in the bathroom but before Frank, he’d had a tendency to just throw his clothes in the corner of his room when he changed in his bedroom. Frank sidled up behind him, hands resting on either side of his ribcage before sliding down to squeeze his waist.

“If you’re fighting for real, your adrenaline will be up. You won’t feel a thing.”

For all his complaints about the term ‘sexy self-defense’, the training tended to get Frank’s blood flowing, get him all riled up. He nuzzled Foggy’s neck, grinding his dick against Foggy’s ass and Foggy shivered.

“Well, I’m feeling that now,” he said, rocking his hips back. “You send Max out of the room?”

Frank chuffed out a laugh against Foggy’s skin, lips brushing in a quick kiss before he said,

“Took care of him before I came in here. I gave him a treat and one of his toys, he’s good.”

Foggy turned in Frank’s arms so they could kiss properly, pausing only to help Frank out of his shirt, a simple black tee that Frank rocked better than any of Foggy’s fancy tailored suits. Frank had to let him go to pull the shirt over his head but once it was gone, Frank’s hands went right back to his waist.

He tended to go straight for Foggy’s pudge the same way Foggy tended to go straight for Frank’s abs, which was actually pretty nice and all together fair, really. For all his self-defense lessons, Frank never actually tried to get Foggy to lose weight or bulk up. Just tailored the lessons to capitalize on the strengths Foggy already had.

Where had he been when Foggy was in high school and forced to run a mile around the track? Frank could have saved Foggy a lot of sweat and tears if he had been there to tell Coach Harris that Foggy didn’t need to drop some weight.

Frank honestly seemed happy with Foggy the way he was, only maybe just wanted him a bit deadlier. Or at least not as easy to kill. Foggy knew he’d never have the killer instinct and quiet honestly, didn’t want it. These lessons were great because they were about self-defense, about what to do if somebody came after you. Not what to do to go after someone.

Frank’s hands were stroking up and down his sides now, squeezing when they got to either side of his stomach and then sweeping back up. The first few times he had done this, his touch had been too light, had been a tickle and made Foggy laugh and squirm.

They had spent one evening on the bed, Frank trying out different strengths of touch until he could fondle Foggy to his heart’s content without sending Foggy into a laughing fit. Since then, Frank always used just the right amount of pressure, like he had imprinted that information into his brain like he needed it for a military expedition.

Frank herded him backwards towards the bed and Foggy went easily, bouncing on the mattress as he landed on his back, Frank looming over him. Frank’s eyes were hot and his lips parted, one hand rubbing down his stomach. He made a gorgeous picture, hand dragging down his stomach to unbutton his jeans.

“Shit,” Foggy cursed, lifting up his hips and shoving at his sweats and underwear. Nothing graceful or alluring about him, flopping on the bed like a fish as he struggled to get out of his pants. Frank was smirking as he stepped out of his own pants, reaching down to help tug Foggy’s clothes all the way off.

Frank climbed on top of him, mindful of his elbows and his knees. He settled easily between Foggy’s spread legs, pressing skin to skin. He pressed a kiss to Foggy’s bullet wound and then moved on, tongue rasping against a nipple. Foggy grabbed Frank’s head, hands slipping through the short strands of his hair before landing on his ears. 

“My ears,” Frank said, sounding amused and Foggy huffed.

“You have no hair, what do you expect, I have to hold on to something -”

Frank shut him up by biting lightly on his nipple and Foggy yelped, tugging on his ears in retaliation.

“I can’t help that they’re the perfect handles,” he whined, following his tug with a soft rub around the rim of his ears. Frank ignored him to bite at his other nipple and Foggy began to tug him up because he wanted a kiss.

Frank went easily, kissing Foggy deeply, rasp of his five o’clock shadow sending shivers down his spine. He wrapped his legs around Frank’s waist, both of them groaning, rocking together lazily. This was so good, really good but he wanted to try something different, idea percolating in the back of his head all day.

“Wait, wait, wait -,” Foggy moaned, shoving a little uselessly at Frank’s shoulder. Frank immediately pulled back and Foggy used the space to flip over. He got his knees up, pushing his ass into the air, Frank hissing when it made his cock bump along Foggy’s flesh.

“Like this,” Foggy said, “Can you grab the lube?”

Behind him Frank stopped moving immediately, just froze and Foggy glanced over his shoulder, startled. Frank looked a little lost, uncertainty sitting strangely on his face. Foggy had seen Frank uncertain before but that had been a long time ago, back in the beginning when Frank hadn’t been sure of his welcome. 

“I’m not sure I’m ready -,”  Frank began and Foggy immediately knew what he meant. Anal sex was a huge jump in the whole gay sex thing, even if a guy had done anal with a woman before. He and Frank were still pretty much at Gay Sex 101.

“Oh, no, no,” Foggy said hastily, twisting and sitting up, Frank doing the same.

“I’m not expecting, there’s no -,” Foggy broke off and then to his own complete horror, made a circle with his thumb and forefinger and moved the finger on his other hand in and out.

“Wow,” Frank said and Foggy buried his face in his hands.

“I panicked,” he said, words muffled by his hands. “I think it’s way to soon for anal but I was hoping you’d fuck my thighs.”

At that, Frank made a noise of inquisitive interest, like his curiosity was piqued and Foggy risked a glance up. He was pretty sure it was a sign of Frank’s virility that Frank’s erection hadn’t wilted from Foggy’s little x-rated hand puppet show.

“You slick up,” Foggy mumbled and he was an adult, talking about sex should be easy and yet somehow it wasn’t. “And just fuck between my thighs as I squeeze them shut.”

Frank was quiet for a moment and Foggy was just telling his dick that they would handle any disappointment like the adults they were when Frank leaned forward and kissed him.

“Sounds good, hot shot.” 

Frank’s voice was low and raspy enough that Foggy believed him. He fumbled at the nightstand for the lube, clicking it open and squeezing some into his palm. He reached down, bypassing his cock to stroke his inner thighs, leaving gleaming streaks upon his skin.

Frank caught his wrist and Foggy looked up startled. Frank wasn’t looking at him though, instead staring down at Foggy’s thighs.

“Let me.”

Mutely, Foggy nodded, handing him the bottle of lube. Frank poured more into his hands, probably way more than they needed but Foggy wasn’t going to complain, not with Frank’s big, rough, hands slipping between his legs.

Frank dragged his hand along Foggy’s thighs, rough calluses catching on the sensitive skin, making Foggy’s whole body twitch and jerk. He was massaging the lube into Foggy’s thighs with a dedication Foggy wanted to give him an award for, fingers pressing into muscle. Foggy’s legs fell open, Frank’s hand reaching higher to cup his balls, thumb rubbing along the seam.

“It’s good, it’s good, please Frank, I need you, I need it -“

Foggy flailed wildly, knocking Frank’s hands aside and flipping back onto his hands and knees. He rubbed his thighs together, feeling the slick wetness of the lube and moaning.

“Please, Frank, just push it in, between, please...”

Frank hushed him, grabbing his hips and getting behind him.

“I got you, hot shot, I got you.”

They both groaned as Frank slid his cock between Foggy’s thighs and Foggy pressed them together as tightly as he could so he could feel every inch. He was babbling, he knew he was, praising Frank, thanking him and they had just gotten started. He managed a glance over his shoulder and Frank was staring down at where he was moving in and out like he couldn’t bear to look away.

Yeah, yeah. That was always nice to look at, thick dick, thick thighs, so fucking wet, it felt so good -

“Jesus, hot shot, the mouth on you.”

Frank tightened his grip and slammed his hips forward, hard enough that Foggy slid across the sheets a little bit, babble breaking off with a yelp. Frank kept it up, hips pistoning, hands dragging him back, just taking his pleasure and _using_ Foggy.

It was glorious.

Foggy actually hadn’t done this very often, it was work, keeping his thighs tightly together but it had seemed like such a good idea at the time. It felt enough like fucking to sate the itch, Frank’s powerful thighs pumping behind him, his rough hands clinging tightly to Foggy’s hips. He’d have bruises tomorrow, sex bruises on top of his normal wear and tear from his self-defense lessons.

Two different ways Frank had marked him.

Foggy bit his lip, the head of Frank’s cock bumping his balls, riding back along his perineum. The pleasure spiked, hard and fast, made his knees weaken and then go out. He collapsed on the bed, Frank going with him, his cock staying nice and snug between his thighs. Frank stretched out on top, his weight settling on Foggy’s back even as he continued to thrust, his hands letting go of Foggy’s hips to brace himself on the bed.

It was a bit of an awkward position but the full body contact more than made up for it. It was like Foggy was covered and surrounded by Frank, his heat, his skin, his sweat. Foggy rocked back onto the thrusts as best he could, fisting his hands into the sheets and whimpering into the pillows.

Frank swore loudly, his body bearing down hard and then freezing. Foggy could feel his cock pulsing, feel the hot, wet splatter of his come adding to the mess between his legs. 

Foggy began to rut against the bed frantically, so desperate to get off, feeling Frank’s come drip down between his thighs. If felt filthy and dirty and wonderful and he rubbed his thighs together to feel it more. He was so close and he began to wiggle his hand underneath himself, valiantly trying to shift enough even with Frank’s weight on top of him.

“Hey,” Frank said, voice heavy and sated, “Lemme get that for you.”

Then Frank’s hand was shoving Foggy’s aside, working underneath Foggy’s body as Foggy lifted his hips as best he could. Frank’s hand barely cupped Foggy’s dick and that was all she wrote, Foggy was done, back arching, hips shoving, cock pulsing. Every time he thought he was done, he’d feel the slick, sticky mess between his legs and it would wring another spasm out of him, Frank’s weight so warm and perfect all along his back.

Finally, Frank slid off of him, one arm wrapping around Foggy’s waist and pulling him along with him. They ended up on their sides, Frank spooned behind him, arm thrown over his waist, hand cupping possessively over Foggy’s spent cock.

They lay like that for a few minutes, Frank nuzzling at Foggy’s jaw, Foggy turning his head now and again to get a few clumsy kisses. They were far past the graceful part of the night, both dumb and slow from their orgasms, kisses just random presses of their mouths. Eventually though, Foggy shifted enough to reach out an arm.

There was a hand towel on the night stand because Frank like to be prepared and Foggy snagged it, intending on cleaning them both up but Frank plucked it from his hand.

“Lift your leg up,” Frank murmured, and Foggy did, Frank swiping the towel across his skin, getting the come and lube and sweat that was quickly becoming less arousing and more just kinda gross. He cleaned Foggy’s front too before wiping at his own dick, tossing the now dirty towel with unnerving accuracy into the laundry hamper.

Then Frank collapsed on the bed and the caveman part of Foggy was so proud that he managed to exhaust Frank Castle with his sex skills. Like, that was something he should be able to put on his resumé: Can Fuck Frank Castle Stupid.

He was just drifting off, telling himself he’d shower in the morning, when something started scratching at the door. It took a moment to penetrate the haze in his brain and when it did, he groaned.

“Shit, Max, oh god, I don’t want to get out of bed.”

Beside him, Frank snorted and made no move to get up himself.

“See?” Frank said, “If you’d just let him in the room, we wouldn’t have to worry about this.”

“Never, you hear me Frank? Absolutely not.”

Foggy heaved himself out of bed, stumbling to the door and pulling it open to let Max in. Max gave him a look that Foggy refused to let make him feel bad before heading straight for the bed and curling up at the foot.

Foggy got back into bed, Frank throwing an arm over him as soon as he was in and cuddling close. Foggy wouldn’t give this up for the world. He wouldn’t.

*

Foggy was just finishing his second bowl of his mother’s beef stew when his mother’s phone rang. She bustled off to get it and when Foggy sent an inquisitive look his father’s way, his father shrugged.

“Who knows,” his father said, “The elaborate labyrinth of your mother’s acquaintances is beyond my ken.”

Foggy laughed because it was true. Even with the proliferation of Facebook, his mother’s telephone network was something Cold War era spies would envy. If shit went down, his mother knew about it in less than an hour.

Only a few minutes later his mom came back in, beaming.

“Cousin Sarah went into labor!” she exclaimed, sitting back down at the table. “She went in about an hour ago. Your aunt is with her, your uncle is watching the rest of her kids. Oh, this is so exciting, I don’t care how many times it happens, it’s always fun to get a new member of the family.”

“Do we know if it’s a boy or a girl?” Foggy asked and his father snorted.

“Odds are it’s a girl.”

“No, no, we’re due a boy. The last three have been girls.”

As his parents squabbled good-naturedly about boy vs girl, Foggy dipped his bread in the dregs of his stew and just swished it around. This conversation here? Would never be about Foggy.

Foggy wasn’t even sure he wanted kids to be honest. He loved being Cousin Foggy, loved spoiling his younger cousins, but actually raising one? Being responsible for them forever, instead of just an afternoon? It just seemed like a lot to handle.

But still, the option had been there, floating in some vague, nebulous future, either having children or adopting. But now...

Frank wouldn’t want kids, at least not any time soon. Foggy was pretty sure he never would.

And even if he did, how the hell would they be a family? When one daddy was one of America’s Most Wanted, at the very least. Foggy was pretty sure Frank never made it up to Canada to commit any of his crime sprees at any rate.

And even without the whole kid problem, they’d still hit the same brick wall he’d hit with Marci. His parents could never know he was involved with Frank.

His dad would like Frank, they’d bullshit together over the barbecue, watch sports on the tv and drink beers quietly on the porch. His mom would _love_ Frank and Frank would throw that charm around, that Foggy saw when they went to eat and Frank would have the waitresses giggling into their aprons. So respectable, aw shucks, ma’am that had worked so well on Karen. His mother would be down for the count.

But they would never meet Frank and even though Foggy could see exactly how it would play out in his head, it would never be. Frank would never eat dinner with his parents, spend holidays with Foggy’s family. Foggy could never show Frank off, show up and say, ‘see? I am loved’.

It hurt, in the way it hurt whenever the world was unfair. Anger that had nowhere to go because nobody was to blame. You couldn’t yell at fate or life or whatever forces led to Frank and Foggy sharing a life. Not that Foggy was upset about being with Frank, this was probably the happiest in a relationship he had ever been, which either spoke to Foggy’s disastrous dating history or just the fact that he and Frank worked really well together.

Foggy preferred to think it was the latter.

When it was just Frank and Foggy, it seemed perfect. It was only when Foggy was moving about in a world Frank could never be welcomed in that it hit him just what a relationship with Frank entailed. So far, the scales always tipped in Frank’s favor, no matter how heavy the things Foggy would miss out weighed.

Even this, apparently.

Maybe if Frank grew a mustache, Foggy mused. A mustache and a wig and I could introduce him as Eddie. He’d be a plumber.

“Foggy, are you okay?”

His mother’s voice pulled him out of his reverie and he look up blinking.

“Huh, ma?”

“Your food.”

He glanced down at his bowl, where his bread had disintegrated into mush. Beef stew never looked so unappetizing and beef stew wasn’t known as a particularly photogenic food to begin with.

“Oops,” he said, “Just thinking about a case at work.”

The older he got, the more he came to realize that anything worth keeping came with sacrifices.

He got home late, getting in just as Frank was about to take Max out for his last walk of the night. Foggy smooched Frank hello, patted Max’s head before holding up his bag of leftovers.

“Let me put this in the fridge then I’ll go with you.”

They headed out, night air brisk and the streets not too busy. They were about a block in, when a cat went zipping past, an orange and white blur. Max jerked on his leash, muscles straining to give chase. Foggy immediately stopped, shortening his leash and snapping his fingers to break Max’s focus on the cat.

“No,” he said firmly. “Heel.”

He refused to move until Max had returned to position and calmed down, the cat long gone.

“Good boy,” he praised, pausing a moment before resuming their walk.

“You’re good with him,” Frank said as they went.

“Thanks. I had to learn pretty quick with him.”

It had been pretty stressful at the time, so much riding on getting Max to consistently obey commands. Adopting Max while starting a new job wasn’t the smartest thing he had ever done but he was pretty sure it was one of the best.

They strolled along, sounds of the city a familiar hum and Foggy couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. This city was in his blood, made up part of his heartbeat. He glanced at Frank, who was encouraging Max to take a poop, already. Max was just wagging his tail, clearly happy with the attention.

Foggy bit his lip and very casually, reached out and took Frank’s hand. Frank didn’t hesitate, tangled their fingers together. They walked through the streets of New York hand in hand, nobody giving them a second look.

Maybe Foggy couldn’t have everything but he had this.

*

Foggy was just settling into bed when a trill sounded and he instinctively looked at his phone. The screen was dark though and he was reaching for it anyway when the trill sounded again.

Oh.

Oh! It was his burner phone.

He scrambled for it, heart beating wildly in his chest. It was late, was Frank in trouble? Was something wrong?

“Hey, hello?”

“Relax,” came Frank’s warm tones, “Not an emergency, just wondering if you could give me a hand.”

“With what?” Foggy asked, more intrigued than suspicious. Frank was actually very good about respecting Foggy’s boundaries when it came to his, uhm, nocturnal activities? If anything, Foggy was the one inching closer and closer to the line.

Reading about cases where the headlines screamed it was a Punisher hit and the small print reiterated that the police claimed Frank Castle was dead. Watching more youtube vids about emergency first aid and carefully stocking his first aid kit. Practicing stitches on a throw pillow, although thank god he hadn’t had to use those skill just yet. The nights Frank stopped by, nothing but a thousand yard stare until Foggy coaxed him back, reassuring him he wasn’t a monster.

The fact that Foggy, not once, asked Frank to stop what he was doing.

“I found a cache of guns, could use some help moving it. You busy?”

“Weeeelllll,” Foggy said, glancing over at Max who hadn’t even stirred when the phone rang, “Me and Max are partying it up, but I think I can slip away.”

“I’ll text you when I’m in front of your place.”

They hung up and Foggy got dressed, grabbing his dark wash jeans and his black henley. Might as well dress the part, right? Like he was some sort of spy. He had just slipped his shoes on when his phone pinged, letting him know Frank was waiting.

“Bye, Max, be a good boy!”

Tossing Max one of his treats, Foggy slipped out the door and headed for the stairs. Frank was idling in front of the building when Foggy stepped out, passenger door already unlocked. Foggy climbed in, leaning in to brush a hello kiss on Frank’s cheek before getting his seatbelt on.

“Off to adventure, huh?” he asked cheerfully as Frank pulled into traffic. Frank laughed.

“Whatever you’re expecting, I guarantee the reality will be much more boring.”

Frank seemed relaxed so Foggy figured wherever they were going, Frank was convinced it was safe. Made sense. Frank wouldn’t ask for help if he thought it might be dangerous. For all of their sexy self-defense lessons, Frank’s biggest lesson was that if there was any real trouble, Foggy’s first action should be to try to get away.

They ended up near the docks and Foggy wondered if it was the same place where Frank blew up that boat but felt weird asking. Just an awkward topic of conversation, really. Instead, he looked around, trying to peg exactly where they were at.

“What is up with these docks?” Foggy muttered, peering out the window, “It’s such a cliché. Honestly, I’m not sure why these docks aren’t patrolled constantly.”

It was disturbingly empty, not a soul in sight and as Foggy got out of the van, he shivered. Foggy was a city boy, born and bred and it just seemed so wrong that a part of the city could seem so desolate and uninhabited.

And the water smelled terrible. Shit, he should have worn his beanie, the smell was going to get into his _hair_.

“This way,” Frank said, jerking his head in the direction he wanted Foggy to go. It was one of the smaller buildings, dilapidated and dark, Frank leading him to a side door and down a hall, flashlight lighting the way.

“What were you even doing over here? On second though, don’t tell me.”

Frank just snorted, leading them to a smaller room filled haphazardly with wooden boxes and crates. He turned on the light and Foggy was surprised this place had electricity. No bodies though, Foggy was relieved to note and instantly felt guilty. Frank wouldn’t expose Foggy to that. After that night in the alleyway, Frank seemed more determined than ever that Foggy never saw first hand any of Frank’s violence.

Foggy had never mentioned his google surfing, those nights spent reading up on The Punisher.

“I already checked out all the boxes,” Frank said, “The guns aren’t unloaded, there’s no traps. We’re good to move them. We got guns and ammo here, we’ll move the guns first.”

One of the boxes was open and curious, Foggy peered inside. Several semi-automatic rifles nestled next to each other, black and gleaming. Shit, there must have been at least five guns in there and there was seven boxes, that was a lot of guns. Especially since they seemed so freaking huge. The only things these guns were good for were killing people.

Frank must’ve seen something on his face because he said,

“If I don’t get these guns, where do you think they end up?”

“No, no, it’s not that. These guns are best in your hands. I’m just amazed by the number. I mean, it’s just crazy that anybody could get this many guns without getting caught.”

He quickly reached down for one of the rope handles to prove to Frank his willingness to help and grunted when he tried to lift it.

“Geez, this is heavier than I thought it would be. In the movies, everybody runs around like these things weigh like nothing at all.”

“Life ain’t like the movies. These things pack some serious firepower, got to be able to handle that. Let me grab the other end.”

They ferried the boxes one by one to the van, Frank going out the door first just in case and once they were done with the guns, the bullets came next. Still heavy, but easier to move because they were smaller and soon all those boxes were in the back of the van as well.

They got back into the van, Foggy rubbing at his palms were the rope had pressed into this skin.

“Where to next?”

“I got a place, I’ll leave them there overnight so I can check them out, make sure they’re in working order.”

“Working order?”

“Some of these guns can be cheaply made, prone to jamming, that kind of thing.”

“Can you sabotage a gun?”

Frank gave him a funny look.

“Yeah, why?”

Foggy shrugged, picked at a faint abrasion on his palm.

“That thing you said, about where the guns would end up. Like what if you sabotaged the guns somehow and then sold them to the bad guys? Wouldn’t that do a lot of damage?”

Frank blinked for a moment and then smiled.

“Devious, hot shot. I’m not sure how feasible that is, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

They drove down side streets until Frank pulled up behind another crappy looking building and they got out. So Frank _did_ have a shithole apartment, Foggy mused, taking in the peeling paint and crumbling brick.

“Second floor, just the guns, the bullets can stay in the van, ” Frank said and when Foggy made a face added, “Hey, it could be worse, could have been the fourth floor.”

“If it had been the fourth floor, you would be on your own.”

They hauled the first box up the stairs, pausing so Frank could unlock the door before ushering Foggy and box in. Foggy couldn’t wait to get inside and as soon as the box was set down, started to look around. It was a wreck, gun parts and ammo laying about and Foggy was pretty sure those were empty cans of beans over in that corner.

“This place is a mess,” Foggy marveled because Frank was such a neat freak at home, “You yell at me when I leave my shoes in the living room. How is this place so messy?”

Frank, who was rummaging through a box of god knows what, barely glanced up.

“This place doesn’t matter.”

And Foggy’s place did. Because Foggy and his home were important to Frank so Frank took care of him and it. Foggy felt the warmth bloom in his chest and suffuse the rest of him, made him giddy. They carried the rest of the boxes up, piling them up against the wall. It was quiet work, mostly because Foggy was too out of breath to talk, what with hauling heavy boxes up a flight of stairs.

Finally they were done, Foggy having worked up a nice sweat and a little bit of an ache in his calves. They got back into the van once Frank locked everything up and Foggy looked over at him, dim light from a distant street lamp the only illumination.

It was dark enough and the streets were empty enough that Foggy followed his impulse. He slid out of his chair, into the space between the seats, hands unbuttoning Frank’s pants.

“What the hell, hot shot - oh, shit.”

Foggy had Frank’s soft cock out in a second, bending to take it into this mouth, tucking the head against his cheek. He loved this, letting a cock grow hard in his mouth in shifts and bursts. The way it grew and hardened because of something he was doing.

He felt Frank’s hand come to rest on his head and he made a sound of approval, wresting another groan from Frank before Frank’s fingers sank into his hair. Frank was gentle, did no more than tug, mostly just dug his fingers in, let them catch on strands of hair.

Frank was thick and half-hard now, perfect for sucking on in long slow pulls as it lengthened. Foggy always loved going down on people, men, women, didn’t matter. And what Foggy loved, he made sure to get good at. So he wasn’t worried about disappointing Frank, Foggy got A+ for head, every time. 

Foggy pulled back, wrapping one hand around the base and sucking on the head. The only sound was the wet slick noises of Foggy’s mouth on Frank, of Frank’s soft exhalations as he panted and squirmed in his chair.

Foggy didn’t waste time; they were in public in a seedy part of town. The last thing Foggy needed was a cop stopping by to see what they were up to. Bad enough getting caught with a vigilante but getting caught giving head to a vigilante? The headlines alone would be mortifying. 

He dropped one hand to his own pants, tugging haphazardly until he managed to get his jeans open and his cock out. Fuck, that felt good. He went back to sucking with gusto, one hand stripping his cock, a little awkwardly in the confined space. It was a good thing he was so turned on, latent exhibitionism coming to the fore, he had hidden depths, who knew?

He took Frank as deep as he could, didn’t bother not to be sloppy, working him with hand and mouth. Foggy had been dreaming of this for a long time, longer than he’d like to admit, way before Frank had ever considered him for this. Frank so hard and thick in his mouth, stretching the corners of his mouth, making him work for it.

The tugging on his hair became a little more insistent, the jerking of Frank’s hips a little less controlled. Foggy pulled off, flicked his tongue over the head before glancing up at Frank.

“Just come in my mouth.”

He waited for the split second when his words hit Frank, saw the way his eyes widened, the way his mouth went slack. Yeah, just about every guy loved that.

Foggy dived back down, took Frank as deep as he could without choking. 

“Fuc -,“ Frank cut off with a deep groan, hips arching up as best they could and Foggy moved with him, mouth sealing around the head of his dick. It pulsed in his mouth and he swallowed eagerly, greedily because all this? Was his. He earned it, he deserved it. Frank’s pleasure belonged to _Foggy_.

He pulled off with a gasp, dropped his head against Frank’s thigh and frantically worked his cock, the taste of Frank in his mouth. The scent of Frank in his nose and when he let his eyes flutter open, he could see Frank’s cock, still slick and wet.

Frank’s hand still in his hair, stroking with shaking fingers.

He bit Frank’s thigh as he came, well, mostly a fold of fabric, rough against his mouth. Just bit down as his orgasm shot through him, whimpering as Frank gently stroked him through it, fingernails scritching against his scalp.

When it was over, he unclenched his teeth, felt the ache in his jaw like a reward. He tilted his head so he could look at Frank, bent over him, watching him so carefully.

“I made a mess,” Foggy rasped and Frank shut his eyes for a moment, spent dick twitching. Foggy would laugh, but his throat was a little sore.

“How many times I gotta tell you, I don’t mind these kind of messes?” Frank asked, one hand cupping Foggy’s cheek. “It’ll clean, hot shot. I promise.”

He ran his thumb over Foggy’s mouth, seeming entranced by how swollen his lips were. Foggy caught his thumb between his teeth and gave it a quick suck before getting back into his seat. It took a bit of effort, knees aching and his legs a bit jelly but he managed. Jesus Christ, he wasn’t young anymore, imaginative places for sex were obviously going to be something regulated more to fantasy than reality.

He stretched his legs out, wiping at his mouth with his sleeve before shooting a sly glance at Frank.

“Better put that away,” he said with a nod towards Frank’s cock, still hanging out of his pants.

“You’re one to talk,” Frank muttered, tucking himself away and Foggy laughed, absolutely delighted with the world at large. So he couldn’t tell Marci about Frank, so he and Frank would never spend Christmas with the Nelson family. So what? He had this, Frank trusting Foggy, Foggy stepping into Frank’s world just a little bit and coming out unscathed. 

Intimate moments in a crappy windowless van, Frank’s hands gentle in his hair.

It was worth it. It had to be.

“Ugh, I should have worn my sweats,” Foggy said with a grimace, putting himself to rights and being very careful with his zipper. “Next time we go on an adventure, I’m wearing jeggings.”

“I’d pay to see you in jeggings,” Frank said, starting up the van, “Or maybe I’d pay not to see you in jeggings.”

The whole drive home, Frank kept glancing over at Foggy, eyes lingering on Foggy’s mouth. Foggy made a point to lick his lips, pressing them together to let the soreness burst along his nerves. Did it count as a tease if Foggy had already delivered?

When they pulled up in front of Foggy’s apartment, Foggy looked at Frank in surprise.

“You aren’t coming up?”

He had assumed Frank’s work for the night was done and that they could curl up to sleep together for the few hours Foggy had before he had to go in.

Frank shook his head and it was gratifying how unhappy he seemed.

“Sorry, hot shot. I’ve got to watch those guns.”

The reluctance was real in his voice and did more to assuage Foggy’s feelings than the actual words. Frank reached out for a kiss and Foggy almost complied before he remembered just where his mouth had been. He pulled back a little, making a face.

“Uh, not the best, uhm, you know, taste.”

Frank looked startled for a moment, as if he hadn’t quite considered it then he shrugged, hauled Foggy close and kissed him full on the mouth. All wet and slick and tongue and this was not a kiss that was messing around. Then Frank pulled back to study Foggy’s face.

“It’s not so bad,” he said, one hand coming up to thumb at Foggy’s bottom lip. “Maybe next time, I can return the favor.”

“Yes, please,” Foggy said immediately, then winced. “I mean, it’s cool, if you want. Whatever.”

Frank kissed him again, softer and sweet.

“Smooth, hot shot. Now get upstairs and try to get some sleep.”

Foggy made it back to his apartment, Max poking his head out of the bedroom to greet him and then going right back to bed.

“Good idea, Max,” Foggy said, stopping only to brush his teeth. “Let’s get to sleep.”

This was a big step, Foggy knew, what he and Frank had done tonight and he wasn’t talking about the blow job. No, Frank had invited Foggy a few steps into his world and Foggy had gone willingly. Frank had showed Foggy just how much he cared for him, Foggy and his home worth being treated like something precious.

It was sweet, was Foggy’s last thought before drifting off to sleep.

Of course, when he woke up two hours later to get up for work, he wasn’t feeling so charitable. Jesus Christ, Frank. Couldn’t you come across an illegal cache of guns during the weekend?

*

“You could get in trouble.”

Foggy looked up from his tablet to where Frank was sitting on the couch, drinking a cold beer. Foggy was going through some work emails, tv droning quietly in the background.

“What?” he asked, confused. Frank frowned down at the beer in his hand.

“Helping me like this, could get you in big trouble.”

Oh.

Foggy took a deep breath, putting his tablet on the coffee table before turning to face Frank. Part of him wanted to deflect with some lame joke but he knew this was a talk they needed to have. Probably should have had it a long time ago.

“I know,” he said simply and Frank flinched. “I know and I don’t care.”

Frank took a long pull on his beer, finishing it off and putting it on the table with a thunk.

“You should care,” he said roughly, “Best case scenario, you end up in prison. Worst case scenario, you end up dead.”

“Frank, you think I haven’t looked at all the things that could go wrong? I’m a lawyer, that’s kind of my job.”

Frank shook his head, made an aborted movement with his hand as if frustrated.

“I worry,” Frank said. “I worry I’ll bring something down on your head you won’t be able to handle.”

“You might,” Foggy said and Frank turned to look at him. “You might and _I don’t care_. This is my choice, Frank. You’ve been pretty good at letting me make my own decisions.”

“Did I though? Let you make your own decisions? I seem to remember I was breaking into your apartment on the regular.”

Foggy sighed, reaching out to take Frank’s hand, rubbing his thumb along the back of his knuckles.

“I had a million chances to end this. I never told you not to come back. I never called the police. I never even changed my locks. If I wanted you gone, I could have made that happen in a million ways. I let you in. I let you stay. I kissed you back. I chose this, I chose you.”

Foggy tugged on Frank’s hand until Frank came closer, close enough to kiss. Foggy kept their fingers tangled, ran his other hand over the back of Frank’s skull. Nothing really sexual in his touch, just comfort and affection. Devotion that Foggy didn’t always put into words.

“Frank. My choice. I walked in with my eyes wide open, I know the dangers.”

They didn’t have sex that night, just curled into bed and Foggy got to be the little spoon. He loved being the little spoon.

Whatever this thing with Frank was, it was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iraya was kind enough to draw a scene from this chapter   
> [here](http://iraya.tumblr.com/post/149558405139).
> 
> Go tell her how wonderful all her art is!


	11. Chapter 11

The thing about Frank, was that he meant what he said.

So when he said he’d give Foggy a blow job, that meant Foggy got a blow job. They had gone out to the movies that night, a comedy Tina had told him was good, eating a late dinner of sushi because Foggy had had a craving.

When they had gotten home, Frank had pressed Foggy back against the front door and murmured against his mouth,

“How about that blow job I owe you?”

Which was how Foggy ended up naked on his bed, propped up by a few pillows, Frank settled between his legs. His cock was already fully hard, Frank’s hand wrapped around the base. Foggy was babbling and Frank hadn’t even gotten his mouth on him yet.

“It’s totally cool if it’s too much, I mean not size-wise although I think I’m a pretty decent size? Not huge or anything but good enough? Anyway, I mean, like emotionally, if you aren’t ready, you can stop anytime, I won’t get mad, I swear-”

“Relax,” Frank said, sounding amused.

“Easy for you to say,” Foggy gasped as Frank dragged his hand up Foggy’s shaft, fisting the head and then stroking back down, “You aren’t getting the world’s best hand job right now.”

Frank just hmm’ed, his hand tight and warm, keeping a nice, steady rhythm. He was eying Foggy’s cock like he was planning an attack mission, ready to go in, guns blazing. It was weirdly hot and just a little terrifying.

“It’s easiest if you use your hand and just like, work the head with, uh, your mouth.”

“I've gotten blow jobs before.”

“Okay, number one, I'm a little impressed with the confidence in which you bring up past sexual partners, most people would worry about making things awkward so kudos to you. Number two, giving and receiving are two totally different things.”

Frank was staring at him.

“I still can't figure out how you manage to talk so much during sex.”

“A very marketable skill,” Foggy gasped because Frank was retaliating by rubbing his thumb along the head of his cock, “Oh, that's cheating, I'm trying to have a conversation with you here.”

“A conversation about what, hot shot? Blow job tips? I looked some up, don't worry.”

Foggy squirmed because the hand job hadn't stopped not even for one second. Frank might be impressed with Foggy's ability to string complicated sentences together but nobody could multitask like Frank Castle. Then what Frank said caught up to his brain.

“Looked some up?” he asked, even as he planted his feet against the mattress and began to rock his hips eagerly up and down. “Like on the internet?”

“I know how to google,” Frank said dryly and Foggy blinked, because really? The idea of Frank surfing the internet for gay sex tips was intriguing.

“What exactly did you google?”

Frank answered him by sucking the head of his cock into his mouth. Foggy let out a very manful yelp, his head slamming back against the pillow. Frank was rubbing his tongue firmly along the frenulum and apparently his googling was very up to par. Foggy's legs straightened back out, mostly so his toes could curl.

“Oh geez, did you find a how-to page? Because if so, they gave you some excellent advice. Were there pictures? Oh, shit, was there videos? Frank, did you watch gay porn and touch yourself?”

Frank pulled off, which was terrible, Foggy’s cock wanted his mouth back.

“I found what I needed,” Frank said, keeping his mouth close enough to Foggy’s cock that his lips brushed along skin. Foggy whimpered, did his best not to squirm up and smack Frank’s face with his cock. It would be rude and no way was Foggy going to be rude to somebody who was nice enough to suck his dick.

Frank ducked his head, pressing soft kisses to the head of Foggy’s cock.

“Was gay porn what you needed?” Foggy asked, because he didn’t know when to shut up. It had gotten him into so much trouble all his life and he never learned better. Frank took the head of his cock back into his mouth, bobbing his head the slightest bit, keeping his hand wrapped around the base. Then he pulled off again.

“If I said, yes, I watched gay porn, would that make you happy?”

“Why are we having a conversation right now?” Foggy wailed, hands coming up to scrub at his face before dropping to clutch at the bedsheets.

“You’re the one who keeps asking me questions,” Frank pointed out but was kind enough to suck the tip of Foggy’s cock back into his mouth. Foggy bit his lip, breath hitching in his chest because god, he must have fantasied about this a thousand times. Frank’s mouth stretched around his cock, those dark eyes staring up at him.

One hand was cradling his balls, the other stroking up and down his shaft while Frank mouthed at the head. He was sucking in little bursts intermixed with laving the head with his tongue, his hand, rough and callused, stroking up and down the whole time. Those calluses, those fucking calluses, they were veering into fetish country for Foggy.

He breathed deep, sinking into it. Frank’s mouth was clumsy, a little shy and didn’t that kill Foggy a little inside, that he was Frank’s first because Frank wanted it. Frank took the time to read up on it, prepared for it because he wanted Foggy to have a good time. Foggy hadn’t experienced that kind of care in a long time.

Then Frank’s hand slipped away from Foggy’s balls, disappearing for a moment or two before coming back, slick and wet and prodding at Foggy’s ass.

Foggy blinked open eyes that he had apparently screwed shut. This was a surprise, they had been pretty consistent about staying away from ass play. Before he could ask though, Frank was shouldering his legs further apart and Foggy went easily, letting his thighs fall open. Frank’s hand slipped between them, wet fingers prodding at his hole before one slid in.

Oh god. It was ridiculous, how good that felt, and it was just one finger. Since they started having sex, Foggy hadn’t used any of his sex toys, not even his favorite dildo. Sure, he had thought about Frank fucking him, had known it would take a while for them to get there and had been content to wait. So, while Foggy’s ass was by no means virgin, it had been a while since it had seen some action.

Frank slipped a second finger in, not to stretch, but simply so Foggy could feel it. Or maybe just so Frank could feel Foggy warm and tight around his fingers, clenching down as Frank sucked on his cock. Maybe Frank was thinking about fucking Foggy, about how his cock would feel pushed in where his fingers were now.

No matter how often Foggy had sex, he was always surprised by the different levels of intimacy. The closeness of rocking together, the care of taking someone down the back of his throat, the thrill of letting someone inside. Letting Frank inside, the fact that it was Frank, not some one night stand, not some random hook-up but Frank.

A part of Frank was inside Foggy, and maybe someday soon, his cock would be inside Foggy, taking him deep.

It was too much, which was so ridiculous, Foggy’s favorite dildo had a girth that put Frank’s two fingers to shame but all the same. Frank’s mouth on his cock, his fingers in Foggy’s ass, it was overwhelming and Foggy felt his orgasm suddenly come crashing over him.

“Frank!” Foggy cried out wildly, as close as he could get to a warning. Frank understood, slipping his fingers out so he could grab at Foggy’s hip.

Foggy seized up as he came, hips jerking up uncontrollably but it was cool because Frank just leaned down hard, keeping Foggy’s hips pinned in place. He pulled off, one hand curled around Foggy’s hip, the other stroking Foggy’s cock the rest of the way through. Foggy’s body thrashed against Frank as best it could, the pleasure absolutely overwhelming, come splattering against his skin and running down his length, slicking Frank’s hand and making it a thousand times better.

The way Frank held him down, so easy, he was so strong and Foggy moaned as the last of his orgasm wrung through him, finally going limp on the bed. With hitching breath, he wiped at his face because, yeah, he had cried a little, it had been so good. He was trembling, weak and shocky while Frank got to his knees next to Foggy, one hand resting on Foggy’s shoulder. His other hand, the one wet with Foggy’s come, was stripping his cock, rough and fast, his eyes sweeping up and down Foggy’s body like it formed a picture he just couldn't get enough of.

“Shit,” Foggy slurred, groping haphazardly for Frank’s hand, pulling it from his shoulder. He brought Frank’s hand to his mouth and kissed the knuckles, rough and scarred. The knuckles of a fighter, of someone who dealt out pain but for Foggy, all Frank had was pleasure.

Foggy flicked his tongue along Frank’s skin and Frank groaned, his fingers tightening in Foggy’s as he came, his come stripping along Foggy’s side, mingling with what Foggy had already left. It was ridiculously hot.

“Fuck, fuck, hot shot, it’s good,” Frank choked out, working his cock as he finished coming, leaning down to kiss Foggy, hot and wet. Foggy clutched at him, Frank’s free hand landing on his stomach, rubbing their mixed fluids into Foggy’s skin. Should be super gross and yet still somehow profoundly arousing. If Foggy had been a nineteen year old, he’d probably get hard again.

With muscles made of rubber, he tugged feebly at Frank until Frank stretched out beside him and then cuddled him close.

“I liked the butt stuff,” Foggy said, when he finally caught his breath and Frank sighed deeply.

“Butt stuff,” he said, “You’re like a poet, I swear.”

Foggy laughed, rolling on his side so he could grin at Frank.

“What do you want me to say? The gentle probing of my pink rosebud-“

“Stop, stop, hot shot, I swear-“

Frank grappled at him as he tried to squirm away, Foggy squawking as Frank tickled him. Despite that, he tried desperately to keep going.

“My quivering rosebud opened, like a flower seeing the light-“

“For fuck’s sake.”

Frank hauled him down for a kiss, shutting him up in the best way possible, ignoring the way Foggy was still giggling against his mouth. Eventually Foggy calmed, the kissing drawing out to something deep and lovely.

Ultimately, they slid apart, Frank getting up first and walking naked to open the bedroom door. Max poked his head, looked at Foggy still sprawled on the bed then turned and trotted back down the hall. Frank laughed at Foggy’s cry of insulted dismay and then left to take a shower.

They had tried showering together only once and since that once had ended in bruises and feeling unclean, had opted to never do so again. If Foggy had known shower sex had been in his future, he would have tried harder to find an apartment with a bigger bathroom.

*

That morning, when his alarm started beeping, he woke up to find Frank still in bed with him, blinking awake as Foggy fumbled for his phone. He finally managed to silence it, falling back to bed with a groan.

“It’s too early, why do I have to work so early? Frank, make it so I don’t have to work early.”

“Get your lazy ass out of bed and get dressed,” Frank said, unmoved by Foggy’s pathetic whining. “C’mon, Max, let’s leave him to it.”

While Foggy got ready, Frank and Max disappeared down the hall and by the time Foggy was freshly shaved and dressed, the sweet, sweet smell of coffee was wafting in the air. With one last tug at his tie, he hurried to the kitchen and sure enough, Frank had a cup of coffee ready for him.

“You are a god,” Foggy said, breathing in the steam rising from his mug before taking a sip. “Oh yeah, just perfect.”

Frank ignored him, drinking from his own cup. Foggy knew it would be pure black because Frank was too tough for things like cream or sugar. Then Frank put his coffee down and began to rummage through the fridge, coming back with eggs and sausage. At Foggy’s curious look, Frank said,

“I’ll take Max out after you leave. You’ve got time for breakfast.”

So as Frank fried up the sausages and eggs, Foggy toasted the english muffins, slathering his with marmalade and Frank’s with butter. They ate breakfast together, mostly in companionable silence because god, it really was early.

Foggy left Frank leaning against the counter with one last sleepy goodbye kiss, tossing Max the last bite of his muffin. He whistled on his way to work and if he didn’t have that tiny shred of dignity, he’d probably be skipping too.

Could life get any better than this?

*

Foggy woke up to Max nosing at his hand. It took him a moment to register that his bedroom looked lighter than usual and he fumbled for his phone.

Shit, he’d slept in, no wonder poor Max started poking at him. He had a vague memory of Frank pressing a kiss to his temple, murmuring something about reconnaissance. He had left while it was still dark which meant he hadn’t had the time to take Max out.

He was still a little gross from sex last night but no time to shower. He figured it didn’t matter, he’d just walk Max around the block and then head back home. Nobody would notice his grodiness and it was New York. He was certain all his neighbors had seen worse. He went to the bathroom, did his business and then snagged a washcloth to wipe haphazardly at his belly. Eh. Good enough.

He threw on some clothes then grabbed Max's harness and away they went.

Max took care of business almost immediately, poor thing and then they started a circuit around the block. Foggy figured he’d let Max stretch his legs for a little bit before heading back home. He’d clean up, eat some food and then take Max for another walk.

He was just wondering if cold, left-over pizza for breakfast was expedient or just sad when he heard it.

“Foggy.”

Foggy’s heart started pounding even as he froze. He knew that voice, god, how he knew it. Heart in his throat, he slowly pivoted on his heel to find Matt standing a few feet away, hesitant smile on his face.

His hair was a little longer, maybe, but other than that he looked the same, even wearing a shirt that Foggy recognized. Like no time had passed at all which was so strange when Foggy felt like a completely different person. 

“Foggy,” Matt repeated, “It’s good to see you, well, you know what I mean.”

As a joke it fell flat and Foggy remained silent, not out of choice but because he honestly couldn’t find his voice. Matt’s smile began to fade, slip off his face and Foggy suddenly got his voice back because there had been a time when he lived for Matt’s smile and old habits died hard.

“It’s been over a year, Matt,” he managed to get out. “I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again.”

Foggy had given up hope on that happening, or at least he thought he had. Seeing Matt now, he had to admit a tiny little kernel had lived on. And now that tiny kernel was unfurling in his chest, growing with every beat of his racing heart.

“It’s good to see you,” he said honestly and there it was, Matt’s smile was back.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me again.”

“Of course I wanted to see you, you were my friend, Matt.”

“And you are mine, Foggy.”

And sometimes even good things felt like a punch to the gut. Present tense there, not past. Foggy was still his friend, so maybe Matt was still Foggy’s. Foggy wondered what his heart must sound like to Matt right now because it felt like it was tap dancing in his chest.

“You’ve been good?” he asked, “I tried to keep track of you, uhm, Matt Murdock, not the, you know. Him, I read about in the news.”

Matt’s smile twisted a bit, wry and self-effacing.

“I’m good. I take a few cases here and there but money isn’t a problem. The money Elektra gave me has helped.”

His voice stuttered a bit on her name but his voice had always tended to stutter on her name, all those years ago back in law school. Foggy had to pry her name from him the first time around, when Matt was careening wildly off track and Foggy had been desperate to get him set to rights.

That had been the only time Foggy had ever truly been afraid _for_ Matt, until he learned The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and Matt were one and the same. He couldn’t believe there had been a time when he honestly believed Elektra was the worse thing that could ever happen to Matt.

He had wondered about her and the money he had left untouched in their business account when he had gone about cleaning up the tattered remains of Nelson & Murdock. Even at his most angry, he had hoped that money would be there for Matt and Matt would be smart enough to use it.

He could tell by the flavor of silence that Matt wasn’t going to say anymore about Elektra. That was also familiar, the same heavy silence Foggy would get at Columbia whenever he tried to broach the subject of her.

“Oh, that’s good. I wanted-,” he broke off then went ahead anyway, “I hoped everything went well for you.”

“And you,” Matt said, “Got yourself that nice office at HC&B. Your parents must be proud.”

Wow. It was like talking to an acquaintance at a high school reunion. Awkward chitchat about mundane subjects. Well, work would be a mundane subject if they hadn’t dissolved the practice they formed together. Foggy sighed.

“This is weird,” he said, running one hand through his hair. “This is weird, that it’s weird.”

“I know,” Matt said softly and Foggy winced, because he knew what guilt looked like on Matt’s face.

“It’s weird,” he repeated, “But hey, that’s okay. We can work our way back to not-weird, right? We’ve done it before. I called you a handsome duck and we bounced back from that.”

Matt gave a little laugh, a chuff, a chuckle and Foggy had missed that sound. He found himself smiling, drifting a little bit closer. Matt was fiddling with his cane.

“Actually, I’ve been tracking a company and I was hoping you could look in to it for me, what with your connections with HC&B.”

Foggy felt his smile slip and he stopped where he was. There was a yawning pit opening beneath his feet.

“What?” he asked, heart tripping in his chest again but for a completely different reason. Matt fidgeted.

“IGH, it’s some sort of chemical company. I’ve been trying to track it but it’s just shell corporation after shell corporation. I was thinking with your connections maybe you could rustle up some more information.”

Matt was blathering on but Foggy was hearing nothing but white noise. That stupid little kernel of hope was withering and dying because this wasn’t friend stuff, this was Devil stuff. Because Matt hadn’t showed up because he missed Foggy.

“You need something from me,” he realized out loud, incredulous,“That’s why you’re here now, not because you actually wanted to see me but because you need something from me.”

Matt broke off, looking startled and then distressed.

“No, Foggy, of course not-“

And then, of course, a gust of wind picked up, buffering against Foggy’s back on it’s way to Matt.

Matt took a step back as if struck, nostrils flaring. Enhanced senses, Foggy thought distantly even as Matt’s face paled then turned red. Shit.

Matt dropped his cane.

“What the hell?” Matt demanded, coming towards Foggy faster than a blind man had any right to and before Foggy could react, Max was rearing up, yanking on his leash and snarling. It was pure instinct, a year of training kicking in, that kept his grip firm on the handle.

“Max, down!” he said sharply, voice a harsh command. Max immediately dropped to all fours but his ears stayed down, teeth bared in a silent snarl.

Matt stopped, face flickering towards Max before dismissing him.

“Why do you smell like Frank Castle?”

Hands wrapped tightly around Max’s leash, Foggy couldn’t help but glance around, although he knew they were alone. Matt noticed, of course he did. World on fire.

“What, afraid someone will overhear?” Matt said, angry and Foggy gritted his teeth. He knew Matt had a temper, had roused it a few times on his own even before all this Devil shit had gone down. Matt could hit hard without having to raise his fists.

“What-“ he broke off, swallowed. “What Frank and I are is none of your business.”

Matt moved towards him again and by his side, Max growled low and deep. Foggy shortened Max’s leash, put a calming hand on his head.

“Don’t come any closer, you’re upsetting my dog.”

“Your dog? Your dog is upset? You want to know what I find upsetting? The fact that you’re fucking The Punisher.”

Matt’s voice rose on the last bit and Foggy felt his own temper flare, slipping from his control.

“Keep it down,” he snapped, “I don’t go telling your secrets, don’t you dare tell mine.”

A threat, maybe. Foggy wasn’t even sure, not in this moment, not with the disgust that Matt put on the word ‘fucking’. Like that was all it was, no heart, no soul, just base lust. One of the seven sins, right? Like Foggy should be _ashamed_.

“You have no idea about our relationship. You, of all people, you don’t get to judge.”

“I know what he’s capable of,” Matt said, mulish.

“So do I, which was more than I could say about you.”

Matt full body flinched and Foggy felt viciously triumphant. Yeah, Foggy could land his own punches, with the same sort of accuracy Matt had. Matt came back from the hit though, his jaw firming up and god, Foggy knew that face too.

That was Matt’s righteous face, the face he had when he knew without a doubt he was right and everybody else was wrong, wrong, wrong. 

His voice, when he spoke, was the tone he took when he was placating a hysterical client. That he thought that tone would work on Foggy was just insult to injury.

“Foggy, whatever you think your relationship is, you’re wrong. You are way over your head. Frank Castle is not a sane man, he is not a safe man-“

“That’s enough!” Foggy shouted, loud enough that it echoed. Beside him, Max whined and pawed at the ground. “Enough, Matt. You don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t have to listen. You need someone to get you information on this ICH? Find some other lackey.”

Matt came towards him again because Matt didn’t learn, not when he didn’t want to. Max barked twice, voice deep in his chest, a warning if Foggy ever heard one.

“Back off, Matt. If he bites you, he gets put down. Do you get that? Just back off and leave me be.”

Matt didn’t move so Foggy did, backing away warily. He didn’t put his back to Matt until he and Max were at least ten feet away. Once he did though, he didn’t look back. Let Matt watch him leave, for once. 

Let him be the one left behind.

*

Two nights later, Frank came home with a black eye and a gash across his cheek.

“Is there any particular reason Red tried to kick my ass?”

Foggy cursed, rising from the sofa so he could go to Frank. He grabbed Frank’s face, tilting it from side to side to get a better look at his injuries.

“Goddammit, I am so, so, sorry. I didn’t think he’d bother you about it.”

And he hadn’t, although in retrospect it did seem like a Matt thing to do, as in it was completely insane and lacked real world logic. He hustled Frank over to the couch, went to get the first aid kit and an ice pack from the kitchen. More for busy work. The gash was scabbed over, probably happened last night.

“I ran into him the other morning. He needed some information.” 

Even Foggy could hear how bitter his voice sounded.

“He smelled you on me.”

At Frank’s quirked eyebrow, Foggy felt his face redden.

“Max had to go out, I hadn’t showered yet and I was a little,” he trailed off, gestured vaguely at his stomach. Frank rubbed his hand across his mouth, looking bemused.

“Red and his goddamned superpowers. I knew about the hearing but the smell thing is new.”

“Yeah, well, Matt is full of surprises.” Foggy muttered, as he reached up to pull the ice pack away from Frank’s face. His black eye wasn’t too terrible, most of the swelling on the bottom. Frank could still see out of that eye, at least. “If I had just showered, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“You upset he knows about us?” Frank asked, casual, and Foggy immediately shook his head.

“No! Well, yeah, if he’s trying to beat you up. He’s being such an asshole. Like he gets any say in how I live my life.”

He harumphed and ducked in for a quick peck on the lips but Frank reached up and grabbed his neck, held him in place while he deepened the kiss. Foggy was a bit surprised but went with it, like he always did when Frank wanted affection.

Eventually they pulled back.

“I’m really sorry about this, Frank. It didn’t even occur to me to let you know. I should have sent a text.”

“Not your fault. I’m guessing he’s not too happy about us?”

“You could say that. There was a lot of yelling.”

That was the problem with Foggy’s temper. When it flared, it went supernova and he would be downright brutal in the moment. Cruel. It was afterwards, when his anger collapsed on itself that the guilt and the shame kicked in. Threatening to out Matt as the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen wasn’t cool but he wasn’t even sure if that’s how he meant it, not even now.

He had mostly wanted to remind Matt he was in no position to throw stones.

Foggy hadn’t held a grudge in his life and when his temper did rear it’s ugly head, it tended to burn itself out quickly. And over the past two days, he had, in fact, calmed down. Enough to realize that Matt had found out about Frank in basically the shittiest way possible. On the few occasions Foggy had imagined reconciliation, he had eased slowly into revealing his relationship with Frank because god knew, it was a bit of a doozy.

So of course, Matt had to go and do this. He could be such a butthead sometimes.

He sighed, scrubbing at his face. He wasn’t sure exactly what he felt. He was still angry but he also felt bad, Matt was a dick but Foggy had kind of been a dick too. It was complicated. But that was the effect Matt had on Foggy now, a whirling mass of conflicting emotions.

So angry but so aching too. Feeling betrayed and left wondering just how much betraying he did in his own stead. So many fights with Matt and he always had his reasons, good reasons, driven almost entirely by fear. So much fear he was mad with it. Fear Matt would get hurt, get caught and bring their lives crashing down around them. Or worst of all, die and leave Foggy alone.

Funny how he ended up leaving Foggy alone anyway. At least until Frank came along.

“Max didn’t like him either,” Foggy added, “Matt kept coming at me and Max kept snarling at him.”

Frank tensed.

“Coming at you?”

Foggy dismissed his concern with a wave of his hand.

“Probably just wanted to manhandle me a bit. He’s got a temper.”

Foggy still remembered their laughable slapfight in the courthouse bathroom. For someone with mad ninja skills, Matt flailed pretty pathetically, at least when it came to fighting Foggy. If Foggy was feeling charitable, he’d say it was nice of Matt not to clean the floor with him.

If he was being charitable, he’d admit that Matt had his own reasons too, driven by guilt and a sense of responsibility and a burning desire to make things right. No matter how much Foggy scoffed, Matt kept saying the city needed him and in the end, he was right.

Foggy slumped back against the sofa.

“Ugh, Matt, you asshole.”

He cuddled up to Frank, prodding at him until Frank lifted his arm and Foggy snugged up under it. Frank was warm and solid and his. He rested his head on Frank’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry he tried to beat you up.”

Frank was surprisingly blasé about it, shrugging, Foggy’s body shifting with his.

“That’s not on you. Red’s gonna do, what Red’s gonna do. Your whole falling out was because he didn’t do what you wanted right? Why would I blame you for what he does now?”

“Put that way... Ugh, why aren’t you more angry? He attacked you, like that is not cool at all. He hurt you, Frank.”

“Not the first time, won’t be the last. It’s okay, hot shot. Don’t hold it against him. He’ll probably try to kick my ass for some other reason next week.”

Frank sounded sincere, his hand rubbing up and down Foggy’s arm. For someone so brutal to criminals, Frank could be surprisingly forgiving to the few he thought deserved it.

“Have you- have you seen him before this?”

“Nah, not really, not since the night with the ninjas. Pretty sure he’s been ducking me.”

“The night with the ninjas,” Foggy marveled, “That’s the kind of life we lead, that we can casually recall dates like ‘the night with the ninjas’. And the fact that my ex-friend beats up my boyfriend.”

“Tries to beat up your boyfriend,” Frank corrected and Foggy’s heart trilled a happy little beat at Frank so casually affirming their commitment.

“I had been thinking of calling him,” Foggy admitted, “I said some things, was going to apologize. I wish I could just be angry. I mean, I am angry but it also just sucks. It just hurts and no matter how mad I am at him, I know it’s not just his fault. I did some fucked up things too.”

“Do what you need,” Frank said, voice a little gruff.

Foggy thought it over, turning a bit so he could rest his head on Frank’s chest to listen to his heartbeat. Sitting here with Frank, things with Matt didn’t seem so scary because even if he and Matt never spoke again, he’d still have Frank.

For so long, thinking of Matt had left him angry and sad and helpless. Floundering and at a loss because Dear Abby never covered ‘so your best friend is a vigilante’ in any of her columns.

There was still a little ember of anger over Matt’s outrageous presumption that he had a say in Foggy’s life, his judgement of Frank. An ember that had gotten stoked by Frank’s black eye and the gash across his cheek. Before Frank had come home, Foggy had figured he’d probably call Matt by the end of the week.

Now...

“Not yet,” he said into the quiet. “Maybe after I’ve calmed a little more. And provided he doesn’t hurt you anymore.”

“He can try,” Frank said lightly and Foggy knew he was trying to cheer him up.

“Don’t-“

\- hurt him but Foggy knew that was impossible if Matt insisted on attacking. What else could Frank do but defend himself from Matt’s little stick thingies? Foggy reached up, touched a gentle finger to the swell of Frank’s eye and the cut on his cheek.

Matt did that. As if he had any right to interfere with Foggy’s life. As if he had any right to hurt Frank just because Foggy loved him.

“Don’t kill him,” Foggy said, “Don’t hurt him too badly.”

“I won’t, hot shot.”

It was a promise.


	12. Chapter 12

It was the first week after what Foggy privately referred to as Matt Attack, mostly because both words had ‘att’ in them and he had to find his amusement in this shitty situation anywhere he could.

He was stirring the spaghetti sauce and checking on the noodles when Frank came home, having gone out to take Max for a walk while Foggy made dinner.

“Here,” Frank said, pushing a brown bag into Foggy’s hands. Curious, he opened it up.

“Oh, sweet! Lindt truffles, oh man, I love these!”

“Yeah, I got them for you.”

Foggy dumped the bag’s contents on the counter, letting all the delicious treasure spill out.

“Holy shit, three bags? I can eat a bag in a single sitting, did I ever tell you that? I always tell myself to take my time, savor them and then boom! I’ve eaten them all.”

He went over, smacked Frank wetly on the cheek and then gave him a real kiss, Frank’s hands settling at his waist and tugging him close.

“Thanks, Frank. Seriously.”

Frank shrugged, leaning forward to rub his nose along Foggy’s cheek.

“No big deal, hot shot. Just saw them and thought of you.”

Then he leaned back, peered over Foggy’s shoulder.

“Think the noodles are boiling over.”

“Oh shit!”

Foggy managed to save the noodles and they took the spaghetti into the living room to eat.

“You hear from Red?”

“Matt? No, have you? He didn’t try to hurt you again, did he?”

Frank shook his head.

“Haven’t seen hide or hair of him.”

With Matt’s senses, that meant he hadn’t tried to seek him out. If Matt wanted to find Frank for another round of fighting, he could. Hell, all he had to do was stake out Foggy’s place. He hadn’t gone after Frank though, which meant he had probably realized what a shitty thing it was to do in the first place. Matt going after Frank the first time had just been his temper getting the best of him.

_Beware the Murdock boys, they have the devil in them._

Matt had told him that once, drunk and slurring, slumped together in their dorm room. Foggy hadn’t understood it back then, had only liked the way it sounded in Matt’s drunken sing-song. Like a nursery rhyme children chanted in the streets.

“Well, I’m still mad at him,” Foggy said, twirling some spaghetti onto his fork. “Right now, I don’t want to hear from him.”

And he was still mad, even if that anger was starting to fade. Even if he was remembering what he had said to Matt, all those many months ago when Frank had first popped up in Hell’s Kitchen. Lunatic, murderer, insane. Probably muttered much worse when going over photos of the crime scenes. He had begged Matt to leave Frank to the police because he had believed him to be that dangerous.

Whenever he went another round against Matt to try to get him to stop running around beating up criminals, what was the one thing Matt always fell back on? That he didn’t kill people. He beat them up, he broke their bones but he never killed them. Back then, Foggy felt like that had been a laughably thin line.

And now he was dating a killer.

If Matt was dating somebody like Frank, wouldn’t Foggy be concerned? Granted, Foggy wouldn’t have tried to beat Matt’s significant other up. He probably would have just called the cops, something that would have been far more catastrophic for Foggy if Matt had gone that route.

The cops hadn’t shown up at Foggy’s door so score one for Matt.

What did Foggy score? When all was said and done?

If the Devil was in Matt Murdock and Matt didn’t kill, what did that make Foggy? Who condoned what Frank did, accepted it?

He let his fork drop to his plate with a clatter, shoving his plate away.

“Let me know if he bothers you again,” Foggy said. “I think I’ll take some more time before I talk to him. Still need to sort it out in my head, you know?”

Frank nodded, then went and got him his bag of chocolates to eat. Frank was a good boyfriend. Frank wasn’t _just_ a killer. He was a good man, too.

*

It was the second week after Matt Attack.

Frank was already scrolling through Netflix when Foggy settled down next to him, bowl of popcorn in his hands. Frank gestured to the screen and Foggy glanced over at it. Frank had punched in a search for Mystery Science Theater 3000.

“Pick which one,” Frank said and Foggy blinked.

“You sure?” he asked surprised, “I thought you were tired of them.”

Frank shook his head.

“No, it’s good. We haven’t watched one of these in a while. You’ll have to pick, damn if I can tell from the titles what the movie is about.”

“Oh, Pod People! That one!” Foggy paused, “Although, I know I made you watch a bunch but we really don’t have to. It’s your turn to pick.”

“Nah, Pod People sounds good.”

When they got to the part where Joel and the bots were singing that ridiculous song, Frank snorted and Foggy looked at him curious.

“So that’s where you got that stupid song,” Frank explained, “I was wondering what the hell ‘idiot control now’ was about.”

Foggy laughed, delighted. He had no idea Frank paid any attention to the silly songs he sang to himself around the apartment. They snuggled together on the couch and watched the rest of the movie.

*

It wasn’t until they were settling into bed that Frank asked about Matt.

“I might text him,” Foggy admitted. “He hasn’t done anything to you again.”

Foggy began to fidget.

“I thought maybe, since I’m with you, I could tell him I’m cool with what he does. I really got on his case before, he kept dropping work to do that stuff.”

“You don’t need my permission.”

“I know!” Foggy exclaimed, “But you’re part of my life now and seeing as how Matt tried to beat you up, I feel you get a say.”

It was just so damn complicated. On paper, it seemed like all the problems they had with each other should be solved. Foggy hadn’t agreed with Matt’s vigilantism. That, clearly, was no longer a problem. Foggy was angry Matt wasn’t carrying his weight at work; they no longer shared a practice.

Matt had lied, again, about Elektra after promising Foggy the truth. Then again, it was Elektra. Foggy had long ago come to terms that Matt would always be a little crazy over her. Everybody had that person they got a little crazy over. For a long time that person, for Foggy, had been Matt.

So he got that too and maybe he didn’t like Elektra (or at least the effect she had on Matt, Foggy had never actually met her) but Foggy didn’t have the right to dictate Matt’s life. He never had that right and it was pretty embarrassing to look back on his behavior and realize that was what he had been trying to do.

But that went the other way too. Matt didn’t get to dictate Foggy’s reactions to Matt’s choices, especially when those choices affected him.

Matt’s thinking could be pretty black and white, for all his gray morality. If Matt declared something right, then it was right. Foggy shouldn’t worry, because Matt Was Right. Foggy wasn’t allowed to be afraid because Matt Was Right.

Foggy wasn’t allowed to disagree because Matt Was Right.

How often had Matt scoffed at Foggy’s concerns? Joked when Foggy was frightened? All those very real fears, like death or prison because Matt was running around taking on criminals in the middle of the night. All those tutted aside like Foggy was being ridiculous. After all, Matt Was Right which meant Foggy Must Be Wrong.

In the end, Matt wouldn’t give an inch and expected Foggy to take the mile off his own convictions.

Just once, Foggy wanted Matt to acknowledge that Foggy’s feelings were legitimate, to validate Foggy’s point of view even if it varied from his own. To treat Foggy like an equal, instead of the bumbling loser just trailing in his wake who couldn’t understand Matt’s great vision.

Maybe that was all he really wanted. For Matt to admit that he had hurt Foggy too.

“I’ll stand by whatever you decide,” Frank said and reached to pull Foggy into his arms before shutting off the lamp.

*

It was the third week after Matt Attack.

“Flowers?” Foggy asked, staring down at the bouquet in Frank’s hands in surprise. It was bright and cheery, filled with yellow, pink and purple blossoms.

“Guy was selling them on the corner.”

It made such an incongruous picture, Frank, so tough and still slightly bruised, cradling a bouquet of flowers in his rough hands. It left Foggy feeling like he was missing something significant, like somewhere along the line he had skipped a beat and that had led to this.

Not that he minded the flowers, it just seemed odd.

Frank began to shift awkwardly and Foggy realized he had been quiet for too long, just staring at Frank and his flowers.

“Oh, hey, I love flowers! Let’s put them in a vase so they last longer.”

His voice was way too loud and he hurried to take the flowers from Frank, turning towards the kitchen and then pausing.

“Shit. I don’t have a vase.”

He racked his brain, trying to figure out what he had that could double as a vase. A bowl wouldn’t work, too shallow. Did he have any empty cans? Oh, wait.

“A ha! I do have a very large beer mug.”

Cousin Sarah had gotten it for him when he passed the bar. She had filled it with M&M’s printed with his picture and he had spent the next week and a half cackling at Matt about devouring his own face. That had pretty much been it for the mug. Who had the time to drink beer out of a fancy beer mug? Certainly not Foggy. He drank his beer straight from the bottle, like the tough guy he was.

He put the flowers on the table and began to rummage through his cabinets until he found it, shoved deep into the back and covered in dust. He rinsed it out in the sink then filled it with clean water before grabbing the bouquet again. Frank was a silent, heavy presence at his back.

“Can you get me the scissors?” Foggy asked, focused on unwrapping the plastic from around the flower stems. He held the whole thing over the sink, so as not to make a mess because Frank had a tendency to tut when he did. When Frank handed him the scissors, Foggy began to narrate to fill the silence.

“If you trim the ends, the flowers last longer. Or at least that’s what my mom told me. She loves flowers, so I figure she knows what she’s talking about. My dad always gets her flowers, for her birthday, Mother’s Day. Just because. She was always so happy, it didn’t matter how many times he got them for her. Each time, it was like he had gotten her all the tea in China.”

He could still picture his mother’s pure delight, whether it was a bouquet of roses or simple daisies, bustling to get a vase and fix her flowers up nice. He snipped the endings, turning the bouquet over in his hands to get each stem.

“Cut diagonally,” he added, “They drink more water that way.”

Once he was satisfied that every flower was trimmed, he arranged them in the vase, trying to keep the nice looking structure they had been in. He leaned back a moment, eyeing them critically, plucking here and there until they looked good.

He snapped his fingers and turned to Frank.

“You got a penny?”

Frank furrowed his brow but reached into his pant pocket, rooting around and coming up with a handful of change. Foggy plucked the lone penny from this palm and tossed it into the vase, making sure it fell to the bottom.

“The penny keeps the water fresh.”

Frank smiled at him but it barely seemed to reach his eyes.

“Learn something new every day. You going to keep it in the kitchen?”

“No, no sunlight. Has to be the living room, or the bedroom I guess. You think we can move that little side table by the couch closer to the window? That might look nice.”

They hustled over to the living room and rearranged the furniture a bit until they could place the beer mug/vase in a spot that would get at least some limited sunlight. Frank was still watching him with a strange sort of tension.

“I love these,” Foggy said, putting as much warmth into his voice as he could, “Nobody has ever given me flowers before.”

He reached out, touched a petal of one of the flowers, soft against his fingertip. It was true, Foggy had given plenty of flowers to plenty of people but he had never received any, not even when he had been in the hospital although Marci had given him a Foggy-Bear. He still had it, up high on a shelf because Max had shown far too much interest in it.

Foggy had tended to take care of the people in his life, not the other way around. It was nice, to be cared for.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, “You take good care of me.”

At that, Frank finally seemed to relax, the tense line of his shoulder going loose, the smile sitting easier on his face. On impulse, Foggy crossed the few feet to Frank and gave him a good, hard kiss then he took Frank’s hand and led him into the bedroom. 

Dinner could wait.

*

Actually, dinner could only wait so long, especially after their bedroom acrobatics. A few hours later found them devouring curry take-out, Frank in just a pair of sweats, his glorious abs on display. The only reason Foggy had pants and a shirt on was because he was the one who answered the door to the delivery person.

“Nice view,” he leered and Frank just rolled his eyes, tossing Max a piece of chicken.

Foggy’s phone trilled and he put his fork aside to pick it up. Just a reminder he had a meeting tomorrow. He was all set, had gone over everything twice, so no worries about that. Next to him, Frank shifted on the sofa.

“That Red?”

Foggy shook his head.

“No, I haven’t texted him,” Foggy said, thumbing through his messages just to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. “I should.”

It was only fair, Foggy knew, that he be the one to contact Matt. Matt had tried, even if his attempt had been a miserable failure. All these months, Foggy had wanted Matt to reach out. It was like a wish on a monkey’s paw. He had gotten what he wanted, just in a completely terrible way.

But it was getting time to put this to bed. Months, Foggy had let this drag him down, going through the motions of life but not really feeling anything. He could admit in the quietness of his own mind that he had been depressed and pretty severely too. He wasn’t going to let it happen again and it would be different now, with Frank at his side. Frank made all the difference. With Frank, Foggy knew he could be brave.

If Foggy could come to understand the things Matt did, then surely Matt could come to understand the choices Foggy had made.

“Next week,” Foggy decided. “I’ll text him next week, that should be good, right?”

Frank just shrugged.

*

It was early Saturday afternoon and Foggy was throwing some burritos together when there was a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Frank said, hip checking Foggy as he went by, Max trailing after. Foggy didn’t even sweat the fact that The Punisher was going to answer the door. Sometimes it felt like Frank had already sunk into legend, a tall tale that showed up in the tabloids. Like he wasn’t even a flesh and blood man anymore so the people of New York never saw him as he moved among them.

He had just finished folding one burrito when he heard Max bark once and then Frank’s voice hushing him. Frowning, he wiped his hands on a towel and went down the hall, more curious than worried.

Frank was a big enough guy but it was strange how he seemed even bigger, blocking the doorway from whoever was on the other side. Max didn’t seem too happy either, standing by Frank’s feet, ears pricked up on high alert.

Over Frank’s shoulder, Foggy could see the scowl on Matt’s face.

Matt.

Of course.

Matt’s face twitched, his body angling slightly so he was facing Foggy over Frank’s shoulder.

“Foggy, I’m here to talk.”

Frank didn’t move, just a solid wall while Foggy studied Matt. He hadn’t gotten around to texting him so this was actually a bit of a surprise, to put it nicely. Was he ready for this? In the end, he guessed it didn’t matter. As ready as he’d ever be, that was the best he would ever manage when it came to Matt.

With a sigh, Foggy placed a hand on the middle of Frank’s back.

“It’s okay,” he said, “He can come in. We probably do need to have this talk.”

For a moment, the muscle under Foggy’s palm stayed like stone and then Frank shifted, turned back to flesh and blood. He stepped back, let Matt through. For a moment, Foggy was going to tell Matt how to get to the living room and then stopped his tongue as Matt made a beeline down the hall. Right, Matt didn’t need Foggy telling him where to go.

He began to follow but pulled up short when he realized Frank was staying by the door, reaching for Max’s harness. Foggy looked at him in surprise.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ll take Max out for a walk, give you a few hours,” Frank muttered, not really looking at him as he knelt down to snap Max into his harness. Max seemed as unsure as Foggy felt, glancing up at Frank then at Foggy and then down the hall where Matt laid in wait. Foggy bent to give him a reassuring pet around his muzzle.

“Are you sure? I’m fine with you staying.”

Frank shook his head.

“Nah, you and Red need to talk this out. Better if me and Max aren’t here.”

“Well,” Foggy said doubtfully, “If you’re sure.”

“Yeah.”

Frank stood up and stepped towards the open door. Then he stopped, pivoted on his heel and went to Foggy, pulling him in for a kiss. There was a strange undercurrent to it and Foggy opened up, giving as good as he got. Eventually, Frank pulled away, searching Foggy’s face for what, Foggy didn’t know.

Then with one last long unreadable look, Frank was gone, taking Max with him. Foggy stared at the closed door for a few moments, perplexed, before shaking himself. Matt was waiting for him in the living room. No matter how this turned out, it was going to be a harrowing experience.

Taking a deep breath and straightening his spine, Foggy went into the living room where Matt sat. Despite the faces he had made at Frank, Matt was now looking lost and uncertain. As terrible as it sounded, seeing Matt so obviously out of his depths went a long way in calming Foggy. He wasn’t the only one floundering. When Foggy got closer, Matt shifted, turning his face in Foggy’s direction. He still had his glasses on. 

“It was an excuse,” Matt blurted out before Foggy could speak. “Asking you about that company, it was an excuse. I just wanted to see you.”

Matt was on the couch so Foggy sat down on the rarely used chair his mother had given to him when he had first moved in. An accent chair, she had called it. She had gotten it from an estate sale. He rubbed his thumb along the seam of the arm.

“You know, I want to say I can’t tell if you’re telling me the truth or not but we went down that road before and I really don’t feel like traveling it again. So you know what? For this conversation, I’m going to assume you’re telling me the truth, which let me tell you, is quite the leap of faith.”

Matt grimaced.

“I deserved that. I am telling you the truth, I swear. I’ll only tell you the truth.”

For a moment, Foggy was tempted to say Matt had promised that before but no. There was no point in coming out swinging, not if he actually wanted to make some sort of damn progress. Matt took his silence as acquiescence.

“I thought if I came to you for information, you’d have to talk to me again. Then it wouldn’t just be a one time thing. You’d have to get back to me about anything you found and then I could come up with another reason to talk again.”

Foggy snorted.

“What, like make an appointment to see me? The sad thing is you are so emotionally constipated that I can buy that being your line of reasoning,” Foggy blew out a breath, “I really want to believe you. It’s just that you had all this time to come see me, call me, text me. And now you’re so desperate to see me, you need to lie about it?”

“I missed you, the whole time. I kept telling myself it was for the best for me to stay away but in the end, Foggy, I couldn’t do it. I just want us to be friends again.”

Saint Matthew, martyring himself on the cross. Such a Matt thing to do. Moving forward, Foggy thought. Right, but maybe they needed to lance some wounds first, get out anything that festered.

“It seemed real easy for you, before. Even before we closed Nelson & Murdock, it was like you had checked out. I was just the guy you worked with and barely, at that. Everything else was more important than me.”

For a moment, Foggy was back in those days, Matt pulling further and further away from him and seemingly not giving a single solitary fuck at fixing their friendship. Foggy feeling like he was desperately chasing after the shadow of their relationship while Matt parkoured the fuck out while flashing double peace signs.

“It was like the moment I learned about the Man in the Mask, you didn’t have to keep pretending to be my friend for the cover.”

Foggy couldn’t keep the hurt out of his voice and didn’t really try. Before, he had pretended things didn’t hurt, bottled it up until it exploded and damaged them both with the shrapnel. Matt hadn’t been the only liar in the relationship, Foggy had just lied in different ways. He was coming to grips with that.

“Foggy, I swear it wasn’t like that. Our friendship is real, I’m so sorry I made you feel otherwise.”

“I waited in that hospital,” Foggy said, “I waited and waited and waited and you never showed up.”

“I was on the roof, I was listening, Foggy. I swear.”

“What good did that do me?”

Foggy broke off, blowing out a breath because his voice had been dangerously close to cracking. This wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want to hurt over this anymore but he knew that was impossible. This was going to hurt, no matter what.

“You know what I think hurt me the most? That you never took me seriously. That you acted like my concern, my fears, were stupid and unimportant. _I_ was unimportant. I found you passed out and bleeding twice, twice, Matt! And both times I was there for you. You couldn’t even visit me in the hospital once.”

“I was there-“

“No, Matt, you weren’t. Not at the hospital, not at work, not in our friendship.”

Matt sucked in a deep breath and Foggy could see he was getting frustrated.

“I’m not saying this to be mean,” Foggy said quietly and was a little surprised to realize he meant it. “I’m saying it because it’s been inside me all this time, poisoning me. I bit my tongue too much and ran my mouth about other things. I’m not saying it was all you but it sure as hell wasn’t all me.”

And that fact was important to Foggy. When Matt had no problem at all dropping him, it had struck a near fatal blow. For years he had defined himself as Matt’s friend, had placed such an importance on their friendship, too much importance really but it had seemed okay at the time because he was convinced he was just as important to Matt.

When Matt ended their friendship, it had thrown everything Foggy had thought he had known into question. He had wondered if it was all his fault, if he couldn’t have been more supportive, if he had asked for too much.

On the really dark days, he had thought about begging Matt to take him back, throwing away his self-respect and groveling.

Now, he hoped he understood better. It wasn’t all his fault. It wasn’t all Matt’s fault. They both hurt each other and in the end, they could only be responsible for their own behavior.

“The city needed me, Foggy, and I fucked up balancing everything. I thought I could keep everything and I put you on the back burner because I thought you’d always be there. I took you for granted and I’m sorry for that every day. Then, when everything went to hell, I thought ending our friendship was the best thing for you. I was just trying to keep you safe.”

“You lied to me.”

“I lied to keep you safe,” Matt insisted and Foggy hissed out a breath between his teeth.

“You lied to keep _yourself_ safe. You lied so you wouldn’t have to bother with ugly truths,” he said, “Matt, you keep saying you did all this stuff for me. You didn’t. You did this for yourself. Just admit it.”

“It wasn’t for me,” Matt protested, “I help people, Hell’s Kitchen needs me-“

“We aren’t talking about Hell’s Kitchen or ninjas or drug runners. We’re just talking about you and me. I think if we had done that in the beginning, no bullshit from either of us, we wouldn’t have found ourselves like this, now.”

“I was in the wrong, too,” Foggy reminded him, “I kept harping on you and maybe you made some shitty decisions, but they were your decisions to make. I’d agree to go along with your shitty decisions and then kick up a fuss. I should have picked one or the other.”

And that was true, no matter how ugly it tasted on Foggy’s tongue. In the end, Foggy was the one who let Matt convince him, who let Matt dismiss his feelings, who put up with Matt’s lies over and over again. After the hundredth time, Matt had pretty much proven just in what direction his decisions would go. 

Foggy just kept butting his head against the wall and then blamed Matt for the concussion.

“Please, Matt,” Foggy said softly. Matt twisted his hands together, pressing his lips together against what Foggy assumed was another automatic denial. He was looking down and it was quiet, at least for Foggy and he wondered what this moment sounded like to Matt. Their thundering heartbeats, the air in their lungs, just what was the world to Matt Murdock?

Finally, Matt looked up in Foggy’s direction.

“It was easier to lie to you because you were always questioning me,” he said simply. “I knew you were worried about me and I felt bad. So if you didn’t know, you didn’t worry and I didn’t feel guilty. I kept telling myself you didn’t understand so lying to you was acceptable. When you got shot, I didn’t even want to think about it. I threw myself into finding who did it so I didn’t have to think of you bleeding on the floor. I sat on the roof and told myself it was to keep you safe when the truth was I didn’t want to face you.”

Matt took a deep breath.

“If I faced you, I’d have to admit just how selfish I had been.”

They both took a moment to let the words sink in. Everything about Matt screamed sincerity and in this moment, Foggy chose to believe. No doubts, no mistrust. It was time for faith.

“Thank you,” Foggy said, “For a long time, I felt like it was all my fault. That if I had been a better friend, things would have worked out. It fucked me up for a long time, Matt. Hearing you say all that, it goes a long way. We were both to blame.”

“I am sorry,” Matt said softly, “You were the best friend I ever had and I’d do anything to get that back again.”

Foggy nodded, made a point not to narrate his actions. Matt didn’t need that; it was time Foggy accepted all that Matt and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen could do.

“Do you remember when you said we could find a way to move forward?”

Matt nodded, looking cautious. 

“But then we didn’t. We just spun in place, pretending we were still the same guys we had been at Columbia. That we had the same relationship. And that was the problem, Matt. We don’t even know each other anymore.”

“Foggy, that’s not true, you know me better than anyone.“

Foggy held up a hand. 

“I’m holding up my hand and I had to work really hard not tell you what I was doing,” he said, “You don’t need me to do that. I keep wanting to fall back into old patterns with you but _that_ would be a lie. We have to admit that we don’t know each other anymore.”

Matt looked so unhappy that Foggy felt his heart twist in his chest. Could Matt hear that? Or was it just pure emotion, deep enough that it felt like a physical response? Either way, it compelled Foggy to say,

“But, maybe we can get to know each other all over again. We aren’t working together so we can just focus on being friends instead of business partners. How does that sound?”

Foggy had done a lot of thinking, this past month and had come to the conclusion that they couldn’t save their friendship. That friendship was dead, had died the moment Matt had been unmasked. They had tried to continue with it’s shambling corpse and they both saw how well that had turned out.

They had to give up the ghost on what they had. Only then could they rebuild something new and different. Maybe they could create something that would work.

The smile Matt gave him, tremulous and shy. God, Foggy had missed him so much, the dumb, stupid bastard. Before, Foggy would have reached out and hugged him, ruffled his hair, punched his shoulder. Now, Foggy didn’t make a move to touch him. They were a long ways from easy affection but maybe someday.

“That sounds good,” Matt said, his voice warm, “More than I hoped for, really.”

“Hope’s a funny thing but I’m hopeful too. I missed you Matt and I’d really like you back in my life.”

Matt was still smiling and Foggy was smiling back. The ground under their feet was still shaky but at least it was there.

“I mean, clearly, I am no longer against vigilantism,” Foggy joked. “Can’t get mad at you about that when my boyfriend does the same thing.”

Matt twitched.

In movies, when something bad was about to happen, foreboding music began to play. That’s how you knew the serial killer in the closet was about to jump out, the car was about to crash or the giant shark was about to drag someone under the water.

Foggy began to hear that music.


	13. Chapter 13

“What Frank does and what I do are two completely different things,” Matt said flatly, obvious edge to his voice.

The atmosphere of the room changed, going from emotional but hopeful to dark and heavy. Like it was going to rain, on those days when the skies just opened up and water poured down in sheets. Foggy was suddenly, abruptly, grateful that Frank had taken Max out. There was no way the tension in the room wouldn’t have set him off.

“Agree to disagree,” Foggy said and heard the coldness in his own voice. Matt snorted.

“It’s not that easy, Foggy.”

“Why not?” Foggy asked, “I won’t interfere with what you do, you don’t interfere with what I do. Seems simple.”

After Frank was arrested, Matt had always been so sympathetic. Insisting they take his case, that they defend him with all the skills at their disposal. Of course, he hadn’t followed through on any of that. That had been Foggy, left to panic in a packed courtroom until he reached deep inside himself and found an opening statement that put him in Frank’s shoes for the first time.

It was Matt’s failures that made Foggy put aside his own personal feelings, forced him to look behind the monster in the news to see the man behind it. A wounded, injured man, mistreated by the very people sworn to protect him and his family. Foggy hadn’t wanted to understand Frank Castle, not until he had to.

He hadn’t been okay with Frank then, not even when he was trying to get his charges reduced. Trying to get him the medical help he needed instead of a life sentence or worse. But it had been the first shaky step on a road that would eventually lead him to where he was now.

“Frank Castle kills people. You’ve seen the crime scenes.”

“He kills people who would just go on to hurt more people if he didn’t stop them.”

“Are you tell me you’re okay with this?” Matt said, sounding incredulous. “With him being judge, jury and executioner?”

“Careful, Matt. Your hypocrisy is showing. How many times have you insisted you have the right to be judge and jury?”

“But not executioner, Foggy. These people deserve a fair trial.”

“A fair trial? Like the one Frank got, with the DA’s office pulling strings behind the scene? Faking evidence, lying, breaking the law for their own selfish gain? The system is broken, you’re the one who showed me that. I thought you’d be happy that I finally understood!”

“If you think this is what I stand for, you don’t understand at all!”

"Maybe this isn't about you! Ever consider that? That the center of my universe isn't you? Maybe this is about me bleeding on the floor from a goddamned bullet wound. Maybe this is about the fact that I watched a woman die and Frank made sure the man who killed her would never hurt anybody again! The man who shot me isn't out there anymore, Matt! Frank gave me that."

All those sleepless nights, his shoulder aching no matter what position he took on the bed, twisting and turning to no avail. But falling asleep was always so much worse, DA Reyes’ corpse reanimating in his dreams to demand to know why Foggy hadn’t saved her.

"Foggy..." Matt trailed off, looking startled and then sad. "Foggy, I wouldn't have let anything happened to you. I would have taken The Blacksmith down before he could hurt you."

"I got shot, Matt. Something did happen to me. He did hurt me."

"I meant, after that. If you had told me you were so afraid, I would have told you I'd keep you safe."

"When could I have told you that?" Foggy demanded, "When you ran out on me before they even put me in the ambulance? When I was lying in a hospital bed all alone? When I waited for you, hour after hour, to show the slightest bit of concern? Maybe I should have left you a voicemail: Dear Matt, am currently terrified and sure could use a friend."

"You said you were okay," Matt said and it sounded desperate.

"I said a lot of things and ends up? I'm a liar, just like you."

The room fell silent, the bits of Matt's face Foggy could see making odd contortions. Like he was struggling with what he was hearing and wasn't that a hoot. Matt was fucking shocked that getting shot tended to terrify people. Change people. Something even Frank understood.

Frank who still kissed Foggy’s bullet scar whenever Foggy’s shirt came off, who pressed rough fingers to the edges with a gentle touch no matter how often Foggy told him it didn’t really hurt, not anymore.

"But this isn't about me, is it?" Foggy said, tone mocking but he didn’t even know if he was mocking Matt or himself, “With you, it's rarely about me. This is about Frank."

Matt swallowed like he was tasting something bitter.

"He's a killer, Foggy."

“You protect people, Frank protects people,” Foggy said, ticking it off on his fingers, “You go after criminals, Frank goes after criminals. You stop crime, Frank stops crime.”

"Frank mows people down in a hail of bullets."

"You throw people off buildings."

"I've never killed anyone."

“That you know of.”

“I haven’t.”

“Well, Frank’s never killed an innocent person.”

Foggy could go like this all day, batting back answers to anything Matt could throw out, counter to any of Matt's arguments. It was actually turning into an advantage, the fact that Matt was a vigilanting jack-ass. Most of the things he could protest about Frank, he was just as guilty of.

Matt made a gesture of frustration, one hand knifing through the air.

“Fine, I won’t try to convince you that what Frank does is wrong, you clearly don’t want to hear it."

It was just as clearly implied that Foggy was being childish not to listen to Matt. That Matt, of course, was right again and Foggy was wrong, wrong, wrong. Foggy was getting real tired of Matt telling him he was wrong.

It was with a sense of exhilaration that Foggy realized that this might actually be the first time he had ever told Matt no about something important. Leave L&Z? Sure. Open their own practice and only take clients who can’t pay? Yeah, why not? Take the Frank Castle case? If you say so, buddy.

Matt had never had to work very hard to convince Foggy to his way of thinking so now that it mattered, he didn’t know how. It clicked for Foggy suddenly; no wonder their friendship hadn’t survived the unmasking. It never occurred to Matt that Foggy could say no and mean it so he never bothered to meet Foggy half way.

After all, up to that point, Foggy had always done what he asked.

"But Foggy, do you really think being with him, like this, is safe? He’ll bring hell down on your head, either from the cops or some other criminals that follow him home.”

“You think I haven’t had this exact talk with Frank? I know all of this, I know exactly what Frank gets up to. _Frank_ never lied to me.”

“Bullshit, Foggy, don’t bring that up again, I lied to keep you safe-“

“You still with Karen?” Foggy snapped and Matt cut off abruptly, looking like he just gotten slapped.

“Karen and I are-“

“Are what? None of my business? Exactly like me and Frank so it makes you a giant hypocrite to try to break us up? What is it, Matt? Hmm?”

Matt just gaped uselessly, mouth opening and closing without a sound. Yeah, Foggy had him on the ropes, Matt never could defend himself from an inconvenient and ugly truth. 

And god, it had hurt. Knowing Matt had no problem putting in the effort to win Karen over, to try with her, to give her his time and his trust. Foggy never expected Matt to love Foggy back the way Foggy had loved him. But he had at least thought Matt loved him like a brother and he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Matt hadn’t loved him at all.

“Honestly, this is pretty shitty of you anyway, all things considered. I know we don’t talk about it but fuck, Matt. You have to understand what this is like for me.”

Matt pulled back, looking confused.

“What are you talking about?” he asked and Foggy groaned.

“Don’t make me say it,” he pleaded, getting to his feet and pacing. He couldn’t sit still, emotions tumbling inside of him hard enough he could feel it in his bones. Why had he opened his mouth, dragging them down this path they had so successfully avoided until now?

He should have kept after Matt and his nocturnal activities, worn him down until he conceded. Not this. He hadn’t been thinking, just a reaction to another of Matt’s transgressions when it came to Foggy.

“Say what, Foggy? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Matt got up too, just as agitated as Foggy, the slant of his eyebrows showing confusion, the pull of his mouth, bewilderment. God, Matt was just bringing an Oscar winning performance to the table, wasn’t he?

Then again, Matt had always been a better liar than Foggy thought.

“You _know_ ,” he said, voice bitter. “Don’t fuck with me, Matt. Not about this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Give me a clue here, because I’m at a loss.”

“The fact that I loved you!” Foggy shouted and Matt stumbled back, collapsing back on the couch like a puppet with its strings cut. His mouth opened and closed silently, face deathly pale.

“Oh come on,” Foggy said into the quiet. “Quit acting like you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t, Foggy,” Matt said, hoarse, and certainly didn’t look like he was lying. He was white as a sheet and the lines around his mouth were strained. He looked the way Foggy had felt, when he had lifted the mask and found Matt underneath.

“But you said-,” Foggy broke off because Matt had never actually said it. Foggy had assumed, what with all the heartbeat stuff, the world on fire. Matt knowing things he shouldn’t.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Foggy began to laugh, it sounded horrible and felt horrible, tearing out his chest like it was making him bleed. Matt didn’t say a word, just let that horrible laugh fill the room until it finally petered out. Foggy sat back down on the chair, pressing one hand over his chest as if he could stop his heart.

“You shouldn’t be able to do this to me,” Foggy said, raw, “I want to live a life where you can’t hurt me anymore.”

Matt flinched hard and Foggy was certain that if Matt had bothered to take off his glasses, his eyes would probably be wet with tears. Foggy didn’t have that protection, his eyes were wet and spilling and he wiped at his face with an angry hand.

What did tears smell like to Matt? What did _Foggy’s_ tears smell like to Matt, when he was the one who caused them?

“So you see,” Foggy said heavily, “Why I might not want your input on my love life now that I’ve finally gotten over you.”

“Fogg-“

“So you see,” he said a little louder, “Why I might be upset at you setting up house with Karen while telling me I don’t get my own happy ending.”

“That isn’t-“

“So you see,” he shouted, “Why I get to decide who I love now!”

Matt still looked shaky, skin pale except for red blotches high on his cheeks and for a moment Foggy thought maybe he had gotten through. That Matt would gracefully bow out, agree to disagree or what the fuck ever, just as long as they never argued about this again.

Never talked about this again and just buried it deep where it belonged, with all the other dead things.

Then Matt swallowed, he straightened his shoulders, his jaw firmed. That look, that fucking look that used to get Foggy's heart racing when he saw it in the courtroom because it meant Matt was going to come out swinging and when Matt swung, he rarely missed.

Now it was trained on Foggy and Foggy braced himself for impact.

“Be that as it may,” he said, voice calm and professional, “Frank is still bad news.” 

_Be that as it may_ , Foggy mouthed silently. Foggy’s love just a blip in the path of Matt’s righteous mission, barely worth comment. It was a blow, no lie, to have his love so casually dismissed.

But that was all Matt, wasn't it? Casual dismissal of everything Foggy was.

“You need to leave him, Foggy, before he gets you killed.”

“Is that why you left me?” Foggy asked and Matt sucked in a breath. “Were you going to get me killed? How about all those months when you were the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and I was the sap who didn’t know? How safe was I then?”

“I did what I did because it was best for you.”

“Well, I’m doing what’s best for me now.”

“Foggy, I understand, I get it. When Nelson & Murdock shut down and I stepped away from our friendship-

“Stepped away?” Foggy interjected, “Is that what you’re calling it?”

Matt ignored him and forged on, weaving around Foggy’s words as if what Foggy had to say didn’t matter.

“-from our friendship, you were clearly left hurting. And I don’t know how Frank managed to work his way into your life but-“

“Worked his way into my life? He isn’t some parasite. I welcomed him.”

“He clearly took advantage-“

“Advantage? So now I’m just a fucking idiot-“

“He’s using you, Foggy! You were vulnerable and you latched on the first person to come along-“

“I can’t believe the ego on you! You think just because I loved you when you didn’t love me that it broke me for good?”

“Stop- Stop saying that-“

“What? That I loved you? Is it that horrifying?”

“I can’t deal with it, Foggy!” Matt shouted, whipping his glasses off, blind eyes staring vaguely in Foggy’s direction, “I can’t, okay? I can’t!”

“I dealt with it for years.”

The weight of those words, heavy and cruel in Foggy's mouth.

This, this, Foggy thought, breathing hard. This is the ending they should have had, nothing adult and mature, no quiet conversation while going their separate ways. Screaming and crying, yelling and rage. A bang, instead of a whimper.

They were two boxers in the ring, circling each other and exchanging blows. Foggy had a weak spot now; he would exploit it.

“Was I supposed to curl up and die because you didn’t love me? Just how weak do you think I am?”

"You keep twisting everything I say-"

"You keep saying shitty things-"

They were talking over each other, rapid fire and Foggy wasn't even sure exactly what he was saying. He didn't need to. Just as long as it hurt Matt, that was all his words needed to do.

It was funny, in a sick, sad, way. He had honestly been ready to forgive Matt everything, the lies, the broken promises, the complete and utter disregard of Foggy as a human being. He had thought they could move on, become friends again, find a little sliver of that relationship Foggy had thought they had both cherished.

But Frank's name in Matt's mouth threw that all out the window.

No forgiveness here, no mercy. He took all his pain, his anger, his hurt and he turned it into a weapon. He pummeled at Matt, gave as good as he got, dragged up every last bit of resentment from every broken promise Matt had ever made.

“This is hilarious,” he spat, “You think the love I have for Frank is damaging, is bad for me. What about my love for you? You treated me like shit, for days, for weeks, for months. I forgave you. You lied to me for years and put me in danger. I forgave you. You got me shot and didn't even bother to see me in the hospital. And I forgave you.”

He began to laugh again.

They were back on their feet, facing off, Matt’s face naked without his glasses. Now Foggy could see every twitch in his expression, the narrowing of his eyes, the flinches and the blinks. Both of them bare, finally. Exposed.

“You threw me away like trash. You never contacted me even though you had the time to go back to Karen, you only come back now because it’s something _you_ need. And I was going to forgive you again, fall on my fucking sword just to have my friend back in my life. And you know why? Because I loved you, Matt. All that shit, all that fucked up, messed up shit you put me through - I put up with it because I loved you.”

“Don’t-“

“I don’t even mean it romantically! I gave up on that love a long time ago but I still loved you. As a friend, as a person I cared about, _I loved you_.”

Matt had nothing to say, only stood under Foggy’s onslaught, silent. Even when they fought about Matt being Daredevil, Foggy had always held back, terrified of losing Matt. Unwilling to go to bat, to really let loose, to shove Matt into a corner and see if he could fight his way back out.

He had come close the day Matt had gotten shot and Foggy found him unconscious on a rooftop. His control hanging on by a thread because he had been so afraid, so panicked. So convinced that Matt was going to die doing this shit.

So really, this was a first for Matt. Maybe the Devil was in the Murdock boys but this Murdock boy had never seen Foggy go to war. Matt was unprepared.

“And I- I do love you, Foggy, as a friend-“

“No, you don’t. I don’t think you ever did. All you ever did was use me.”

Matt was the blind one, right? All the years that Foggy had known him, Matt was the blind one and Foggy the guy who could see. But Foggy had been wrong. Matt could always see and Foggy was the one bumbling in the dark.

Foggy had been convinced that what they shared between them was some form of love.

And yet, it wasn’t all of Matt’s fuck ups that showed him the truth. That was Frank, who loved Foggy, who treated Foggy like an equal, who left every door of his life open just in case Foggy wanted to step through. Who trusted Foggy, who believed in Foggy and never made Foggy feel inadequate.

“It’s funny,” he said, “Our friendship ended because I couldn’t accept you for what you were. And now our friendship can’t get started because you can’t accept me for who I love.”

“You don’t love him,” Matt gritted out, “You can’t. Do you honestly think a man like Frank Castle is capable of love? Do you honestly think he could love somebody like you?”

“Just because you never loved me, doesn’t mean nobody could.”

"That's not what I'm saying, Foggy! If you would just listen to reason-"

"Oh of course, the Great Matthew Murdock come down from on high to bless me with his wisdom. You always did know best, didn't you?" Foggy sneered, triumphant when Matt took the hits with ill grace. 

They were in each other’s faces, screaming, and Matt grabbed Foggy upper arms, his fingers digging into Foggy’s skin, nails biting into flesh. Foggy knocked his hands away because the only person allowed to leave bruises on him was Frank. Frank taught him that move, taught him how to take care of himself, instead of leaving him in the dark and hoping for the best.

Matt flailed just as he had all those months ago at the courthouse, obviously holding back what he could do. If he wanted, he could have Foggy down for the count but again, Matt treated Foggy with kid gloves. And it was stupid, really, to want to get his ass kicked but the thought was in his head. If Matt actually took him out, then maybe Matt was actually seeing him as an equal. Not someone to be condescended to, to be scolded like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar.

Instead, he got this. Matt’s hands slipping across Foggy’s arms, Foggy knocking at him with his elbows with ease. Matt trying to hold on, for the first time in years when before it was Foggy who clung.

"Fuck you, Foggy, I'm trying to save you here. This could only end badly for you! You have to see that!"

"It might," Foggy said, "It might and I don't care if it kills me. Frank is worth dying for. I love him that much."

Matt actually recoiled at that, like it was a physical blow, hands slipping off of Foggy’s skin, palms dragging. It took a moment for Foggy to make the connection.

"Oh," he said, "You can tell when I'm telling the truth. That's right. What is my heartbeat telling you now, Matt?"

Matt didn't answer, simply turned his head away from Foggy, eyes squeezed shut. Like it hurt for him to hear it. But Foggy was far past the point of no return.

“I loved you,” Foggy said, voice steady in a way he hadn’t thought possible. There had been years where he dreamed of saying that to Matt and in his fantasies, his voice shook. Reality always was a sucker punch.

“I loved you then,” he repeated, “But I love Frank now. And if you aren’t cool with that, then I don’t need you in my life.”

He stepped back from Matt, put even more distance between them.

“This conversation is done. You should go now,” he said quietly. He watched as Matt wiped carefully at his own face, watched as he slipped his glass back on. Watched as Matt shook out his cane and let it hang loose at his side. He followed Matt down the hall and watched him go out the front door.

Guess he wasn’t done watching Matt leave but this time, all he felt was relief.

*

The moment Frank was through the door, Foggy was on him.

“Fuck me,” Foggy demanded, biting kisses onto Frank’s mouth, “Fuck me, Frank.”

“Yeah, hot shot,” Frank said voice so low and deep Foggy could feel it in his bones, “I will, you just gotta show me how.”

Frank dropped Max's leash, where it slipped to the ground unnoticed by either of them, too focused on each other.

They made their way down the hall, tearing at each other's clothing. Foggy pulling Frank's shirt out from the waist of his pants and yanking it over his head. Frank did the same to Foggy, nearly ripping his t-shirt in his eagerness to get it off.

They left the clothes were they fell, unheedful of the mess they were making, just kissing, biting, clawing their way down the hall, stopping far too often to press against the wall to make out. They were naked by the time they made it into the bedroom, Foggy kissing and biting every bit of Frank he could reach.

He walked Frank backwards until the back of Frank’s legs hit the bed. With one last biting kiss, Foggy shoved Frank hard enough that he fell back, bouncing down onto the mattress as Foggy crawled up after him. Working their way to the middle of the bed, groping at each other, leaving red scours from fingernails in their wake.

Foggy got to his knees, straddling Frank’s stomach, stretching out to fumble open the drawer that held the lube, flourishing it triumphantly when he got it.

Foggy slicked his fingers and reached back, shoving two inside him without hesitation. Frank was watching him with dark eyes, his lips parted. He didn’t say a word, just rubbed his hands up and down Foggy’s sides, scraping his thumbnails across Foggy’s nipples.

Foggy was panting as he twisted his fingers inside of himself, pulling off only to add more lube, to get himself slick. Worked himself open as quickly as he could because the need rising in his belly would accept nothing else.

Months building to this moment and it was really no surprise Matt was the catalyst. Their entire relationship had been built in all the empty spaces Matt had left behind and Frank had filled those spaces, made Foggy whole and showed him how to stand on his own two feet. Let Foggy be his own man. Let Foggy love him and loved him in return.

He had three fingers in and flexed them deep before pulling out. He got more lube again but this time he stroked Frank’s cock, getting it nice and slick. The angle was a bit awkward but he managed, wiping his wet fingers on the bed sheet when he was done. He shifted back, until Frank’s cock nudged against his ass, causing both of them to shiver.

He hadn’t done nearly enough prep and they both knew it but Frank didn’t say a word, only rubbed his palms along Foggy’s thighs. Because Frank trusted Foggy to know what he wanted, trusted him to know his own limits. Frank trusted him. Frank didn’t lie to him, didn’t treat him like a fool.

He reached back, steadied the base of Frank’s cock and sunk all the way down.

He didn’t know what was louder, his moan or Frank’s groan, didn’t care as the burn ran through him. Frank was thick and hard inside him, Foggy’s rim pulsing from the stretch. It hurt, it felt good, it felt like exactly what he needed.

Frank’s head was tipped back, the cords of his neck in sharp relief and Foggy leaned forward, planting his hands on Frank’s shoulders and began to fuck himself up and down, a dirty, fast rhythm. No hesitation, no build up, just good hard fucking. Frank’s eyes fluttered open and his hands came up to wrap around Foggy’s wrists, anchoring him.

Foggy blinked the sweat out of his eyes because he wasn’t about to let go. They locked eyes, Frank’s pupils blown to hell. Foggy was sure his were no better.

“Yeah, hot shot, give it to me.”

Foggy whined high in his throat because it wasn’t often he got Frank’s dirty talk. Frank tended to a few choice curse words, half-bitten noises and groans.

“You’re gorgeous like this, was wondering how you’d take my cock, like a fucking pro, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Foggy could come like this, not very often and it was usually more work than it was worth, but he could come without anyone touching his dick. So he kept going, letting that fat cock pummel him, he was going to feel it in his thighs later but he didn’t care. All that mattered was the pleasure burning in his blood, swallowing him up.

All that mattered was the big, fat, cock splitting him open. All that mattered was Frank beneath him, letting Foggy take what he needed.

They were both too riled up for it to last long. Frank came first, hands clenching on Foggy's hips as Frank drove up, his cock as deep as it could get. Foggy could feel it, Frank's cock pulsing as he came, filling Foggy up and Foggy ground down as hard as he could.

Frank's fingers digging into his skin, the bright spots of pleasure/pain all over his body where Frank had bitten and nipped and scratched. All the places Foggy had taken and taken because Frank was his to take.

Foggy was silent when he came, clenched around Frank's thick cock, his own cock jerking wildly against his belly. Frank was groaning loudly, muttering under his breath as Foggy's come splattered against his skin.

Foggy collapsed on top of him and Frank took his weight easily, his arms wrapping around his waist to keep him there. They stayed like that for a long time, long past it becoming uncomfortable, Frank's cock slipping from Foggy's body, another beautiful ache.

Eventually though, Frank shifted and Foggy groaned, heaving himself off of Frank to fall heavily by his side. Frank immediately put a hand on his stomach, threw a leg over his, as if even this amount of distance was too much.

Foggy nuzzled at Frank’s shoulder and was just considering taking a nap when Frank spoke.

“I thought-“ Frank broke off, his voice rough, “I thought maybe when I came back, we’d be through.”

“What?”

Foggy sat up, twisting a bit but Frank wouldn’t look at him.

“Red, you’ve known him for years. He was your best friend, you said. And he’s right, you know. I’m no good for you. I figured you’d choose him.”

“Jesus Christ, Frank,” Foggy breathed. That look Frank had given him as he left. He thought that would be the last time they would be together.

“Since you told me he came to see you, I figured I was on borrowed time.”

The past month began to flash behind his eyes, Frank giving him his favorite chocolates, letting him watch his favorite movies. Those flowers Foggy had smiled at every morning as they slowly wilted.

Frank had been trying to keep him.

“I love you.”

It fell out of Foggy’s mouth because he meant it, because it was true. Because somehow he had told it to Matt before he had ever said it to Frank. He loved Frank, with his rough, bloody hands and his soft, gentle mouth. The killer he had to hide, the man who held his hand when they walked their dog. 

Every fucked up bit of Frank, Foggy loved.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it, the end! Thank you all for reading my little rarepair! I seriously had no idea my random desire to have Foggy and Frank make out would lead to this. Thank you again for all your encouragement, there's no way I would have managed this without it. Seriously.
> 
> And now I will be starting an international move and then settling into a new job so I might not be around too much. I really want to keep writing though, I'll just have to see!
> 
> Thank you again!

_Present_

Foggy could only be grateful he didn’t have Max with him.

It was one of the only things he could be grateful for, seeing as he was currently tied to a chair getting the shit punched out of him. They grabbed him on the way home from work, dragging him into a van before he could even shout, gun digging into his ribs.

“We’ll kill you if you shout,” one of them had said.

Foggy should have shouted.

Too late now.

The warehouse they had him in smelled musty and gross, the windows he could see covered in grime where they weren't cracked or broken. Why were there so many abandoned warehouses in New York? It didn't make any goddamned sense, just like the perpetually abandoned docks. They were in a city of millions and yet as isolated as if on a deserted island.

One man was in a suit, more expensive than the others and tailored to perfection. He wasn't big or intimidating, Foggy could have passed him on the street and not thought twice about him. But he had an alligator smile, too many teeth and not enough soul. He was clearly the one in charge because he had been in the room waiting when the men who snatched Foggy dragged him in, saying nothing as they tied him securely to a wooden chair left conveniently in the middle of the room.

Once they were certain Foggy wasn't going anywhere, the men had gone over to Alligator Smile and now they were talking lowly, voices nothing but low murmurs to Foggy's ears. For a moment, he wished he had hearing like Matt's but then again, probably not. Maybe it was best he didn't know what they were talking about.

Matt. Shit. Foggy wasn't sure how he felt about the fact that that last terrible meeting with Matt might just be the end of it.

The man in charge sighed, causing Foggy to twitch in his chair as he came over.

“A lot of my... fellow business associates, they hate The Punisher,” he said, conversationally, as if they were having a discussion over a cup of coffee. “Me, I didn't hate him. I mean, I'd kill him if I had the chance but it wasn't personal. Business is business. His business is to put me out of business, my business is to stay in business."

The man sighed again, shrugged his shoulders, a rolling movement as smooth as his voice.

"He cost me some money, he cost me some bodies. It's the way it goes. I understand. I wasn't going to go to war with him, it would cost me even more money and even more bodies," he explained, like talking about death as a business expenditure was normal. Was a given, as if of course people die so you can make money.

He came over to Foggy, stroked one hand across his face, so gentle that Foggy knew to fear it. His hands were rough like Frank's but his fingers carefully manicured. Hiding the kind of danger he was with a thin, shiny veneer. He ran one hand through Foggy’s hair then clenched his fingers, pulling hard and forcing Foggy’s head back.

"What I can't let go is the fact that he humiliated me. He sold us faulty guns through a dummy seller and then when he came at us, my men died looking like idiots. Holding guns that couldn't shoot!"

People had gotten angry at Foggy before. Hell, he was a lawyer and he had a big mouth; lots of people had gotten angry with Foggy before. Dangerous people even, like gangbangers in an emergency room, hopped up on adrenaline and machismo. Dangerous men with access to weapons and maybe Foggy sweated and flailed but in the end, his spine had always held true.

But he'd never gone up against something like this.

Completely vulnerable. Totally defenseless and worse, they were trying to use him to get to Frank.

Frank, he thought and let his name center him.

Frank.

*  
_Past_

Frank stayed for almost two weeks straight, after Matt’s visit. He and Foggy fell asleep together, woke up together and when Foggy came home, Frank was there to greet him. When Foggy came back on a Sunday afternoon after doing errands (picking up his dry cleaning which cost an arm and a leg and in a just world, he'd be able to throw his suits into the washing machine or just Febreeze the hell out of them), Frank was puttering around the apartment, Max at his heels.

In the living room, the coffee table was currently covered in bits and bobs and Foggy wandered over to it, curious.

"What's this?" he asked because it seemed a rather odd collection of pens, note pads, gum and cables of indeterminate origin.

"I cleaned out the junk drawer in the kitchen," Frank said and Foggy didn't know why he was surprised. Of course cleaning out junk drawers was how Frank spent his free time. Then he noticed something at the edge of the table.

"Oh hey, it's my camera," he exclaimed, picking it up. It was a digital camera, a few years old and when he tried to turn it on, nothing happened. He slid open the battery compartment and pulled out four AA batteries. "We got any double As?"

Frank went over the dresser that used to hold his clothes before he had moved into Foggy's room and Foggy's drawers and plucked out some batteries.

Once he got the fresh set in, it came right on.

"Oh man," Foggy said, "I haven't used this since Christmas. See? There's my dad making faces at the e-reader I bought him."

His dad had claimed that he would never use it, that Foggy should go get his money back and buy him some real books. Now, he didn't go anywhere without it. Foggy was always very smug about it as soon as his father's back was turned.

“I should get a new camera,” he mused aloud as he thumbed through the images. Man, his hair looked terrible. That was back when he had cut it to try to impress Jeri at his job interview. A wasted endeavor. Nothing impressed Jeri. “A nice expensive one. Nikon is good, yeah?”

Frank shrugged.

"If you want. That one still works though, right?"

Foggy lifted it to his eye and peered out the lens.

"Yeah but people always look so spiffy when they have the fancy kind."

He mimed a photo shoot, turning the camera this way and that and making clicking noises with his tongue.

"The camera is on, you could actually just take the pictures instead of pretending," Frank said dryly and Foggy laughed, dropping the camera away from his face.

"You're right, I can. Get your magic baseball cap on, let's go to Central Park."

At the word 'park', Max began to prance around, tail wagging furiously before he jetted off to the hall were they kept his leash and harness. It was a much better response than to the word 'bath', which Max had also figured out. Hearing 'bath' just led to Max trying fruitlessly to fit under the bed. He always got half way and stopped, his butt and hind legs sticking out. Frank was usually the one who hauled him out.

It was a nice enough day, the sun was out, just the tiniest bit of chill in the air. Foggy hadn't taken Max to Central Park often, too worried about other dogs back in the beginning but between him and Frank, he was certain they wouldn't run into any problems. He couldn't live his whole life afraid for Max, eventually he'd have to have faith not just in Max but also in his own abilities. Today seemed like a good day to begin.

They strolled through the park, Frank keeping a firm grip on Max's leash, Max obediently trotting by his heels. His other hand was twined with Foggy's and every now and again he'd lift their hands to press an absent-minded kiss to Foggy's knuckles. 

They got some looks but Foggy was pretty sure it was more about how hot Frank was. All the looks were appreciative, not concerned, not worrying that they had just passed The Punisher out on a date with a pudgy blond.

They wandered until they found a less crowded lawn, going into the grass and letting Max sniff at the trees. Foggy kept his camera on, snapping pictures of Max but getting very few good shots.

"Max," Foggy exclaimed, when Max ruined another picture by turning his face just as Foggy clicked the button, "Buddy, a million dogs on the internet manage this, I refuse to believe it's too difficult for you."

Frank laughed, kneeling down to reel Max in, Max taking advantage to swipe his tongue across Frank's cheek. Frank wrinkled his nose, scrubbing his cheek with his jacket arm. Foggy took a picture.

All in all, they spent almost two hours there, only one tense moment when an unleashed dog went bounding past them, chased by it's owner. Max had twitched in the dog's direction but all it took was Foggy calling Max's name firmly to get his attention. Max had forgotten all about the dog once Foggy had given tummy rubs.

Eventually they left, Foggy's memory card filled with new pictures and their empty stomachs rumbling. They stopped for dinner at a little curry shop, grabbing take out because all three of them were hungry and Max's kibble was at home.

Later, Foggy uploaded his pictures to his laptop, making faces at how many he had to delete because Max was nothing but a dark brown blur. Others, he bit his lip over because Frank's face was clearly visible, no chance mistaking him for Eddie, the inexplicably muscled plumber. The smart thing to do, the right thing to do, would be to delete them, on the off-chance somebody came across them.

But Frank looked so happy in them, lips curved into a smile, eyes crinkling at the corner. Some he had been staring right at Foggy as Foggy had taken the picture and Foggy could hear him now, every word he said tinged with affection.

In the end, Foggy moved the pictures into a locked file because he couldn't bear to delete them.

There was one picture. Frank, bending down beside Max, his hat pulled low over his eyes, his face tilted down so you couldn’t quite make out his features. Max, nose tilted up, adoration written on every bit of his face, from his lolling tongue to his bright eyes.

Foggy framed it and hung it up in the living room. If anybody asked, he’d just say it was one of the trainers at the dog facility. Some guy named Eddie.

*

_Present_

It was the one picture he had of Frank and nobody else who looked at it would have any idea the significance of it. Foggy's secret, Foggy's love and if it had to die here with him, so be it.

“Tell us where Frank Castle is,” the man snarled, slapping Foggy across the face. It stung. Foggy had never actually been hit before, not really. He had gotten shoved a time or two on the playground but it was nothing like this. “You’re his damn lawyer, I know you know where he is.”

Ridiculous, really, to feel relief in a situation like this. But still, he felt it blossom in his chest. They snatched him because he represented Frank at trial, not because they knew of any other connection. They didn’t know that half of Foggy’s dresser was filled with Frank’s clothes, that the groceries in his fridge had been bought by Frank. That Frank had kissed him good-bye two nights ago, saying he had some things to take care of.

“C’mon, man,” Foggy said a little desperately, “I’m the lawyer that failed to get him acquitted. I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t tried to kill me. I’m certainly not in contact with him!”

This time, instead of a slap, it was a punch. Blood filled his mouth, his teeth cutting the inside of his cheek.

“Dude!” he said, blinking back tears because it _hurt_. “I have no idea where he is, you’ve got to believe me!”

The man took a step back, studying Foggy’s face for one long interminable moment. Then he jerked his head to the goon next to him. That guy stepped forward, cracking his knuckles and he didn’t grin or make a smart remark. Simply began to brutally and systematically hit Foggy over and over again. Body blows for the most part, his stomach and minor hits across his arms, one blow glancing across his face and jaw when he was unlucky.

"Not his face," Alligator Smile snapped, "I need him to be able to talk."

"Sorry, boss," the goon muttered and then went back to beating Foggy unmercifully.

It hurt.

It hurt.

“I don’t know!” he screamed, when the guy finally let up. “The last time I saw him, he was being dragged from the court room!”

His breath was hitching in not quite sobs, blood running wet and warm down his lips and chin. Salt and iron. Iron and salt.

Maybe he was going to die here.

*  
_Past_

“Nelson!”

It was Brett, glancing up and down the street before crossing it to reach Foggy.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, Nelson.”

“Well, I don’t have to go chasing ambulances anymore.”

“Oh yeah, I heard all about that. Fancy high-priced lawyer, too good for us common folk. Swaggering about in that fancy suit of yours.”

Foggy snorted. It had been a long day at work and he knew his suit was wrinkled and his tie, possibly, maybe, had a smear of ketchup on it. The hot dog had been worth it.

“You’re one to talk, Detective Brett _Baloney_. Is that tie silk?”

“Really. For real. You’re going to bring up Baloney again.”

“You have to admit, it’s pretty hilarious."

In third grade, Brett Baloney had been the height of comedy and as far as Foggy was concerned, it still was. He hadn't even been the one to think it up, that was Jazmin Williams who had lived two streets over and had a knack for rhyming. She was a doctor now, out in California; they were Facebook friends. Brett was shaking his head.

"Man, I had actually forgotten about Baloney. This is why I need to move out this damn neighborhood. Everybody has long memories."

Foggy grinned at him.

"I call bullshit. You'd never leave here. You love it too much."

"Could say the same thing about you," Brett countered and Foggy shrugged.

"Guilty as charged."

Brett hesitated.

“You doing good, though? Haven’t really seen you since your practice closed.”

The way Brett was looking at him, that constipated look that meant he was concerned about Foggy and didn't want him to know because Brett never wanted to admit that he cared about him. Foggy groaned.

"My mom told Bess, didn't she."

It wasn't a question and Brett grimaced.

"Yeah. You and Murdock are on the outs. I had wondered," he admitted, "when Nelson & Murdock closed."

Foggy ran a hand through his hair.

"Here's a tip, man. Don't ever go into business with a friend. It screws everything up."

Close enough to the truth that he wasn't _really_ lying.

"I'm sorry, Foggy. I know you two were close."

Brett sounded sincere because deep down, Brett was a good guy. The kind of guy that would stay clean surrounded by dirty cops. Who would do the right thing because it was the right thing to do. Foggy gave him a wry smile.

"We were. Not anymore. It happens."

Brett sighed and scrubbed at the back of his head, looking awkward.

"Well, if you need to talk-"

"Oh my god, no. Baloney, _no_. If I need to talk, I will call a therapist."

"Oh thank god," Brett said, looking relieved. "My mom made me promise to ask."

"You know I'd make a smart remark about being a momma's boy but I know my mom would kick my ass for that."

"Damn, right, Nelson. And I wouldn't even have to tell her, she's got ears on the street, I swear."

They chatted for a few more minutes before somebody shouted for Brett from across the street. They both turned to find an older woman throwing her arms up in the air and gesturing they had to go. Brett snorted.

"My new partner," Brett explained. "Alma Rodriguez and she will make me suffer if I don't go."

"Alright, man. Stay safe, okay? The streets can get crazy."

"The streets are always crazy. Vigilantes, ninjas, probably a couple of aliens from the last time for all I know. Oh, and before I forget, my mom says you need to come to dinner. But don't," he warned and here he shook one finger at Foggy, "Don't be bringing my mom cigars. Your mom was going on about how you brought her flowers, bring my mom flowers, you jackass. Bring her a cactus, I don't care just as long as she can't smoke it."

"So no marijuana then? Is that why I'm hearing?"

"I will arrest you, Nelson. Don't think for one moment I won't."

Then he turned and began to jog across the street, waving at his partner and Foggy started off again.

"Hey!" Brett shouted causing Foggy to turn back around, "I just want you to know you definitely got me in the divorce!"

It shocked a laugh out of Foggy and left him smiling all the way home.

*  
_Present_

He hoped Brett wasn't called to the scene before they ID'd his remains. The fact that they knew each other meant Brett would never keep his case but until they had his identity, it was entirely possible that Brett would catch it first. He was a rising star in the ranks of the police. Proven to be a good cop after the Fisk fiasco, credited with catching The Punisher, a boy from Hell's Kitchen made good.

Karen should probably write a puff piece about him.

If Foggy got out of this, he'd email her, tell her Brett deserved the spotlight. A good cop, a good man. He certainly didn't deserve to be the one to have to tell Foggy's parents about his death but being the stand up guy he was, he'd volunteer to do it. 

It was funny, how easily Foggy had accepted that he might die here. How easily that knowledge sat inside him.

It wasn't because he wanted to die, it wasn't because he didn't believe Frank would save him. Foggy couldn't fight, he wasn't strong or capable of beating up a man with his pinkie. He could only protect who he loved by running his mouth or in this case, not running his mouth.

The longer he kept the men here, the less time they had for hunting Frank before Frank started hunting them. And Frank would hunt them, of that he had no doubts.

And if they killed him before Frank got there? So be it. Underneath Foggy the optimist, lurked Foggy the pragmatist. Foggy knew the odds and understood them. He'd hope because he had faith in Frank but the last year and a half had taught him hoping for something was rarely enough. Maybe even never enough.

The man in charge was rolling out something on the table, too far for Foggy to see.

"I don't like getting messy," the man said, stroking his hands across whatever he had. "Some people enjoy this but not me. It's work."

He plucked something and held it high. A gleaming knife and if Foggy didn't hurt so much he'd laugh. Christ, this guy was a cliché. Foggy was pretty sure he'd seen several movies with this exact scene. He had enjoyed it more on the big screen when he was safe in the audience.

The man brought the knife down and tapped it against his thigh.

"I'm going to ask you again, Mister Lawyer. Where is Frank Castle?"

Foggy shook his head, heavily because it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

"I told you," he choked out, "I have no fucking clue."

*  
_Past_

They talked about Matt, lying in bed one night later after the blow out. Not naked, not fresh from sex, just curled up in bed, wanting to talk.

"Our points of view are too different," he said, head resting on Frank's chest. Frank's arm was wrapped around Foggy, his finger brushing absently against Foggy's scar. "They never were before and now that they are, neither of us could handle it."

"Because of me."

Foggy sighed.

"Our falling out began long before you ever showed up on the scene. He never told me he was The Devil of Hell's Kitchen, did you know? I found him passed out from blood loss on his apartment floor. He never trusted me. Don't think-"

He broke off so he could sit up a little, look Frank in the eye.

"Don't think you're some sort of replacement, okay? Me and Matt, we were friends but it was all screwed up, a lot longer than I thought it was. Years, he lied to me, put on an act and I fell for it. Like an idiot."

And Foggy still felt the fool, looking back on all that time he had spent leading Matt around, describing things to him, taking such eager pleasure at being helpful. A puppy chasing after Matt Murdock and he was embarrassed of it now, knowing that to Matt, all those little gestures were pointless, useful only in giving Matt cover.

Helping Matt live the lie.

Frank rubbed a palm along Foggy's arm.

"Hey, not your fault you didn't suspect the blind guy of being a ninja. I think most people wouldn't have expected that."

Foggy laughed and it was only a little bit bitter.

"What are the odds that I befriend the one super-powered blind guy with a massive guilt complex in Hell's Kitchen? At least, I hope he's the only one here but hey, the time's they are a'changing."

Every day it seemed another story came out of someone with abilities that nobody knew if they should fear or be in awe of. The goddamned Avengers ripping themselves apart in a way that Foggy just knew they only had bits and pieces of the story. Foggy had been as thrilled as every other American when Captain America had returned from the dead and not just because Steve Rogers’ ass looked great in uniform. It had seemed like the beginning of a new era and in the end it had been, just not in the way Foggy had expected. Captain America and the Avengers had appeared out of nowhere when all hope had seemed lost, a shining beacon for the nation to turn to.

But then it was like the alien invasion had opened the floodgates for weird, overpowered crime. People weren't just run of the mill criminals anymore, they were villains now, with grandiose plans to take over the world. Heroes begat villains begat vigilantes begat heroes and so on and so forth.

Life in Hell's Kitchen just wasn't the same.

Foggy caught Frank's hand with his, staring down at Frank's rough knuckles. Even if Frank stopped today and lived the rest of his life without violence, his hands would show his history.

"Seriously, though, my falling out with Matt had everything to do with Matt and very little to do with you. You were just my line in the sand."

Foggy had wondered if Frank hadn't been in his life if he would have just fallen back in with Matt. If the moment Matt showed up, Foggy would have meekly returned to his side, lesson learned that he wasn't to disagree with him or Matt would take his friendship away. He hated himself that the answer was probably yes. Without Frank, Foggy would have done anything to have his best friend back even if it meant hurting himself.

"I stood up for myself," Foggy said quietly, "You gave me the strength for that."

He felt unbelievably sappy saying this stuff but Frank had always been honest and far more prone to talking about Foggy's feelings that Foggy would have originally pegged. Frank liked hearing Foggy say this stuff, reassurance of his place in Foggy's life and heart. Always hungry for Foggy's words of affection and he always repaid that affection back in touches, kisses, love.

"You never lied to me, you never pretended to be something you weren't. You believed in me, you've been here for me whenever I needed you. I love you and I _trust_ you."

And after Matt, Foggy had learned just how important trust was, maybe even more important than love. Loving Matt had gotten him nowhere. Trusting Matt had almost led him to ruin.

Frank sat up too, gripping the back of Foggy's neck to pull him in for a rough kiss. Foggy loved these kisses, just a bit of an edge, a hint that Frank's control when it came to Foggy wasn't always perfect. That Foggy hit something in him that was raw and honest. True.

"Me too," Frank said gruffly when they pulled apart and Foggy didn't need the exact words to know what Frank was saying.

Frank loved and trusted Foggy too.

*  
_Present_

It was always possible that Matt might swing in to save him. Because despite the explosive ending of their friendship, Matt was a good person too. If Matt knew that Foggy was in danger, Matt would come to save him and life would be easier if he could just regulate Matt to 'asshole that I used to know'. But Matt was someone who helped the city, in a different way than Frank but it was like Foggy had said, they were running along the same lines, that had never changed.

So maybe Matt could save him, if he found out before Frank.

If Foggy had a choice, he'd say no to both and want them to stay far away because the thought of anybody getting hurt because of him turned his stomach. Foggy was built to take another person's pain, had been that way all his life. But for someone to take pain for Foggy? If he had a choice, his captors would suddenly see the error of their ways and let him go. Preferably with enough money to catch a cab or his phone to call an Uber. But that wasn't going to happen.

If he was going to get out of this alive, it wouldn't be because anything he managed to do on his own. He was so far out of his depths and he knew it, ball of helplessness living under his rib cage because there was nothing he could do or say to save himself. If he got out of this, it would be because Frank or Matt saved him. 

And if it had to be somebody, he wanted it to be Frank.

Maybe it made him a hypocrite but it was the kind of hypocrisy he could live with. Frank had killed the man from his nightmares once before, even if he hadn't spared a thought for Foggy at the time. That imposing, charismatic Colonel that Foggy had actually admired on the stand and secretly thought was kinda handsome in a silver fox sort of way.

Foggy still didn't know if it was the Blacksmith himself who pulled the trigger or one of his lackeys; it didn't matter. Frank's bullets had taken care of all of them.

Just like Frank's bullets would take care of all of these men.

He held on to that thought, that vicious hope. For the first time in his life, he was praying for other people to die with the knowledge that it was a very real possibility.

Maybe this was what Matt had been afraid of. Not what Frank was but what Foggy could become.

That was when the gunfire started and Foggy began to laugh, unheeding of the blood dripping down his chin.

“See?” he choked out, between near hysterical laughter, “I don’t need to tell you where Frank is, he’s already found you.”

The guy dropped the knife in his hand, cursing as the rest of the men headed for the door. They didn't make it, the door kicking out and there was Frank, dressed in black, white skull smeared across his chest. He was the most perfect thing Foggy had ever seen. Foggy watched as Frank scanned the room, eyes widening then narrowing when they landed on Foggy. Frank, Foggy mouthed, voice stolen by the sheer relief, the desperate elation welling inside him. Frank.

Frank was here.

The men had stopped in surprise when the door had flung open and now they shouted and cursed, reaching for their guns. Frank's gun, huge, massive, deadly, was already in his hands and he hefted it up and began to spray the room. Far from Foggy and Foggy knew what he had to do, throwing his weight back and forth until his chair began to rock, shoving his feet hard against the floor.

He tipped over, hitting the ground hard enough that the chair he was tied to broke. He lay there dazed before that information penetrated his brain, all he had been trying to do was get beneath the hail of bullets. The chair was broken. He was tied to it and it was broken. It was broken and he was free.

He began to jerk his arms wildly, rope burning along his skin and he made himself calm and slow down. Frank was here, it was okay, he would be free now. He sucked in a breath and then another and began to carefully work his hands free, broken pieces of wood canting this way and that until the rope slipped over. One hand and then the other. He twisted a bit, it was awkward and he hurt all over but he managed to work the rope wrapped around his chest and midsection loose and then the rope was sliding off him like an unwinding snake.

Free.

Free.

Free.

*  
_Past_

"I worry about you," his mother confessed, reaching across the table to press one hand to his cheek. "You're my baby boy, I'll always worry about you."

His dad wasn't home, over at Bob Lopez's house to watch 'some sort of sporting event', according to his mother. Foggy had dropped by unannounced, still smarting from that last, disastrous argument with Matt. Not that he told her that, just said he wanted some of her home cooking. She had made him a ham sandwich from the ham she cooked the night before and now they sat in the kitchen, just talking, Max dozing at their feet.

He reached up and took her hand, giving it a squeeze.

"I know, mom, but I'm telling you, things are going good for me."

A lie and not lie.

Work was going great, Marci was a better friend then he deserved and well, he had Frank.

"HB&C does good work and it pays the bills. With Nelson & Murdock, I let my optimism get the best of me. It's all well and good to help the little guy, but going out of business because I can't pay overhead means I help nobody."

And that was true. Their business model had been no business at all and even charities had to take in money somehow. Matt had been so strict about what cases they took and after a while it seemed anybody with a sob story would have their fees waived. Foggy had always felt so mercenary whenever he brought up their dwindling bank account, as if asking for money for his services made him a bad person.

Now that he had money in the bank and was finally getting some free time from his massive caseload, he could afford to take some pro bono work. Plus, the whole reason Jeri hired him was to help "people with complexities" and more and more of them were popping up by the day. Most of them scared and confused and HB&C offered them the legal help they needed. And Tina had told him, even if they didn't give them legal help, they tended to refer them to a support group run by a social worker who had experiences with this type of "complexities".

"All under the table, of course," Tina had said, tapping the side of her nose. "You weren't here when the whole Kilgrave thing went down. Believe me, everybody needs therapy for this stuff."

Foggy wouldn't mind talking to a therapist himself but he was pretty sure doctor/patient confidentiality didn't cover vigilantism.

"Maybe it needed to happen," Foggy said, "Even though I grew up here in Hell's Kitchen, you and dad protected me from the worse stuff out there."

And that was true, Foggy had led a surprisingly sheltered life. Just a chubby kid who never got as picked on as one might expect because Foggy had always been good at making people laugh. And if you got people to laugh with you, they were much less likely to laugh _at_ you. Despite all appearances, Foggy was pretty good at social survival. He had a certain charm to him that came easily, an ability to connect with people on a daily basis. He could put a person at ease within minutes of meeting them, something that always came in handy with clients and witnesses.

"I wish I could still protect you," his mom said, her eyes darting to his shoulder. "It's getting so violent out there, I've been reading the news, it's all so awful."

"It's not all bad, people are out there, making a difference."

"Are you talking about The Devil of Hell's Kitchen? I think it's nice what he does but why does he have to dress like a devil? Why can't he dress like something nice?"

Foggy snorted, darkly imagining Matt dressed up as an angel and fighting crime using little throwing harps. Probably not a look Matt would go for.

"And Frank Castle," Foggy said, because he couldn't help it, "I hear he's still out there, cleaning up the streets."

"They say he's dead but I heard from Pilar that her cousin saw him just walking down the street! The cops say one thing, people say another, that's how it always is."

She paused a moment, fiddling with her hair before going on.

"I know he did bad things and you don't approve," she said and Foggy suppressed a wince. He might have called his parents a time or two to vent vaguely but viciously about the Frank Castle trial. In his defense, he had been under a lot of stress and for the most part, Matt had been nowhere to be found. "I can't help but feel that he wasn't all bad. His heart was in the right place."

During jury selection, a lot of women had come down in favor of Frank and when he had wondered aloud about it, Karen had snapped that it was because women understood what it was like to be helpless and afraid. That they lived with it longer and deeper than men.

His mother was looking at him anxiously, as if worried that her confession would make Foggy look at her different.

"I may have changed my stance on that."

Foggy had ranted and railed, misdirected anger really. Every time he had said something cutting about vigilantism, it had really been directed at Matt but his parents had no way of knowing that. They had just asked him why he had taken on the Castle case when he clearly didn't agree with what his client had done.

He hadn't had an answer for them then, just sputtered something about everyone deserving an equal chance and if Foggy was a better man that should have been the truth. No matter what your crime, everyone deserved a fair trial. It was a cornerstone of their legal system.

In reality, Foggy had done it because Matt had asked him to.

A fact that stuck awkwardly in Foggy's craw. The Castle case was when it all went to hell, where Matt proved just where he placed Foggy and Foggy's livelihood on his list of priorities, and wow, had Foggy rated low. Foggy had gotten shot because of the Castle case, had learned what Karen meant about being helpless and afraid first hand.

But if they had never taken the Castle case, Foggy never would have met Frank. Would never have followed his case closely, would never have heard about the Punisher's dog, going to be put down if somebody didn't step up to foot the bill. Intellectually, Foggy knew the clock began ticking on their friendship the moment he pulled off the mask and found what he had thought was his best friend underneath. Emotionally, Foggy kept coming back to the trial.

That was when he lost everything he had before and gained everything he had now, even if it had taken months for him to collect. The aftershocks of the trial were still affecting his life in good ways and bad and as long as Frank was one of those ways, Foggy had to admit it had been worth it. But how to explain that to his mother?

He couldn't.

"Maybe we need guys like Frank Castle, I don't know. He-" Foggy broke off for a second, voice in danger of breaking. He cleared his throat. "He killed the Blacksmith."

His parents had visited him in the hospital and would have showed up to escort him home on his release if he had told them when. But for all their fussing, they had never actually said it out loud. It was never 'you got shot', it was 'you've been sick' or 'been unwell'. Like they couldn't even stand to say their son had a bullet put through him, the reality of it too frightening. Foggy hadn't pushed; for a long time, _he_ had trouble dealing with what happened to him. He couldn't fault his parents for that.

"When I heard he had done that, I thanked God," his mom said, "I thanked God and I thanked Frank Castle."

They sat in silence, in the warmth of the kitchen he had grown up in. At his feet, Max snuffled a bit, stirring and then settling back to sleep, stomach full of ham and dreaming doggy dreams without a care in the world. Foggy wished he could do the same. 

People with complexities. 

Foggy had thought that just meant the actual vigilantes and not the complex feelings they seemed to bring out in others. Foggy was a person with complexities now, balancing his life between Frank and the rest of the world. 

He'd make it work though, do a better job than Matt.

He reached out and squeezed his mother's hand again.

"You don't have to worry about me," he said firmly. I have Frank, he followed silently. Frank loves me and takes care of me.

*  
_Present_

He twisted so that he was on his stomach, keeping as close to the ground as he could. The gunfire was nearly deafening, mingling with the screams and cries of the dead and dying. He lifted his head. Carnage and chaos and most of the men who tortured him were already dead, blood splattered corpses on the ground. Foggy didn't look too closely at them, just kept his eyes moving. Frank still had his gun but more men were streaming behind him. Foggy watched as Frank swung around, new clip at the ready. He watched as those men died too.

Then suddenly someone was grabbing at him and hauling him up.

“C’mon, you fat fuck, you’re my ticket out of here,” the man snarled and it was the guy who had beat him up, who had bruised his knuckles on Foggy’s bones. One big, meaty, hand held his gun, the other was gripping the front of Foggy’s shirt tightly and from there, it was automatic.

Foggy grabbed his hand and held it tight against his chest, trapping him. His other hand formed a fist and drove itself into the man’s stomach, forcing him to double over, breath escaping in a startled grunt, gun dropping from lax fingers. He chopped hard on the guy’s neck, driving him to his knees, only the tight grip Foggy had on his hand keeping him from falling completely down.

He pulled the guy’s hand off his shirt, twisted it as he went to keep him off-kilter. The guy cried out and Foggy curled his hand into a fist and he brought it down into the man's face.

Again.

Again.

Again.

The man went limp, face bloody, his body a slow descent as he fell to the floor. Foggy watched him fall with a strange sort of detachment, unfurling the fingers that gripped the man’s hand so he could drop completely, hitting the floor with a thump. He was out cold but still breathing. He wouldn't be hurting anybody because Foggy took care of him. 

He looked up.

Frank had abandoned his gun, most likely out of bullets and too unwieldy to use in close quarter combat. There was just a few men left and they were out of bullets too. It seemed Frank was going to take care of them the old-fashioned way. He was swinging solid, brutal punches at the guy in front of him, the guy staggering and he'd be down soon, Foggy could tell. Another man came at Frank and Frank ducked, slammed his arm into the side of the man's head hard enough that Foggy could hear the blow from where he was.

One guy left and he and Frank traded blows, him wildly, Frank pitiless and concise. A brutal war machine. That line had popped up in an article somewhere, Foggy couldn't remember but he did remember thinking that had been a bit hyperbolic. He had been wrong. That was exactly what Frank was, a brutal war machine sent to right the world's wrongs. Foggy knew he should be doing something, helping Frank or getting out of the building, anything other than just swaying in place. But his legs felt like lead and his head was spinning and it felt like there was nothing he could do.

The someone else came into Foggy's field of vision. 

Sharp, smooth suit, Mr. Alligator Smile. He was behind Frank, his back to Foggy, but Foggy could still see the gun in his hand, see him bringing his arm up. Frank didn't see him, didn't hear him, too focused on the opponent in front of him.

Frank.

Frank.

Frank.

Foggy didn’t think, not really. He wasn’t thinking, he was feeling, the cuts and the bruises, the fear and the panic. He didn’t remember picking up the gun, just that it was suddenly in his hands. The metal of the gun handle on the palm of his hand cool against his hot skin, the heft of it as he lifted it with a steady arm. The recoil as he pulled the trigger.

The sound of it ringing in Foggy’s ears.

And he watched as the man who had spent the better part of the night ordering his torture, the man who would have killed Frank without hesitation, Foggy watched as that man fell. How he crumpled and it wasn’t like the movies at all, he didn’t fly back, barely staggered. Just dropped, blood blossoming on the back of his jacket, Foggy’s aim holding true. Foggy, who had never shot a gun, hitting the bullseye on the first try.

He was dead because Foggy killed him.

He was the last maybe, later Foggy wouldn't be able to remember if the fighting went on after that shot. That shot was all he heard, echoing in his ears. Mr. Alligator Smile's body all that he saw. Whatever happened, Frank took care of it. Killed anybody else who came in or maybe they all just ran once their boss was dead. All Foggy knew was that he stood there for who knows how long, gun still in his hand because he had used it to kill someone.

The gun was a part of him now and would be, for the rest of his life.

Eventually Frank came to him, bruised and bloody hands gentle as they took Foggy's wrist, guiding his arm down so the gun pointed at the floor. He gently pried Foggy's fingers away from the gun, wiping it down with his shirt before tossing it aside. He took Foggy’s hand, twined their fingers together, pulled Foggy close. Close and into his arms, wrapping himself around Foggy, all warmth and blood.

“Hey, hey,” Frank was breathing against Foggy’s skin, “Hey, come back to me. C’mon, hot shot, talk to me.”

He sounded far away, like Foggy was at the end of a long tunnel, all alone where the light met the dark. Foggy could hear him crooning but it was so muffled, he could barely make out the words.

“ _Foggy_.”

His name. That was his name. That was Frank, saying his name. It was the spark that dragged him back, making him blink and shake like he was suddenly waking up. Like he was back, from whatever strange place he had found himself in.

"Frank," he said, voice small and shaky, "Frank, I knew you'd come for me."

Frank clutched at him even harder at the sound of his voice, so hard that maybe his bruises would replace all the other bruises. He'd like that, Frank rewriting the pain on Foggy's body, turning it into something else. He sagged in Frank's arms, suddenly so weak and trembling and Frank just crooned something wordless, took on his weight as if it were easy.

Just let Foggy rest in his arms, surrounded as they were with the stench of blood and gunpowder.

“I did what I had to do,” Foggy said because he needed it to be true and Frank kissed him, hard, no hesitation.

"I know, Foggy. I know."

Getting home was easy. Frank half carried, half dragged Foggy from out of the warehouse and eased him into the passenger seat of his van, his beautiful, shitty van that Foggy would kiss if he had the energy. He stayed there as Frank went back to the warehouse to set it on fire, because Foggy's fingerprints and Foggy's blood were part of the crime scene and Frank made sure to protect Foggy in every way.

Destruction of evidence. Foggy considered it a minor crime. After all, if he was pulled in for questioning, their house of cards would all fall apart. And that was a crime Foggy would not allow. Nobody was taking Frank away from him, not gangsters or crime lords or the police. No one.

He saw the smoke first, forcing his eyes to flutter open as he leaned heavily back into his seat. He watched the way the windows glowed orange and red, long before the flames began to lick out, a growing inferno, set to devour. It made the building look eerie and unearthly in the rear view mirror as they drove away, as if they were departing Hell instead of a dirty, run-down warehouse filled with dead men.

Once home, a quick order from Frank had sent Max to his kennel, leaving Frank and Foggy alone for the trip down the hall and into the bathroom. His ribs hurt but Frank had looked him over and decided they weren't broken, wiping him down with a warm, wet, cloth before getting him into clean clothes. Mostly what Foggy had were bruises, a few cuts, his busted lip.

Alligator Smile had wanted him healthy enough to talk.

Frank helped him into bed, calling Max out of his kennel, Max quick to jump up and join Foggy. Max seemed aware that Foggy was hurt, only licking once at Foggy's fingers before settling at the foot of the bed. Keeping guard, no doubt, because Max loved Foggy too.

He was in a lot of pain but Frank had given him some sort of powerful pain killer, something only doctors could hand out. Frank came by with medical supplies every now and again, hospital grade stuff and Foggy had never asked where he had gotten them. And hey, they were coming in handy now, weren't they? Even if both of them had figured they'd be using them on Frank, not Foggy. So his pain was slowly starting to sink under the fog of drugs and he sighed, shifting deeper into the bed.

In a distant part of his mind, he was horrified to think that he got off pretty lightly. They hadn't wanted to inflict permanent damage, obviously believing he would cave easily because all he was was a soft lawyer. Foggy had been underestimated all his life and there were plenty of times he'd been grateful for that, usually inside a courtroom. These guys could have removed body parts but probably figured that all it would do was make Foggy pass out.

So no permanent damage, at least not physically. Other parts of Foggy had been damaged this night, even Foggy wasn't sure how deep that damage was going to go and how long it was going to stick around. Getting shot gave him nightmares for months; what the fuck price did he have to pay for this? Frank was holding him, pressing soft kisses along his jaw and murmuring sweet nothings in his ear and Foggy nuzzled back, clinging back so tight it was his turn to leave bruises.

There was a loud thump from the living room and Max leapt to his feet and off the bed, about to race out the bedroom door.

"Max," Frank snapped, "Kennel."

Frank's gun was already in his hand, pointing at the door, his other arm still wrapped around Foggy's shoulders. Shielding Foggy with his body and Foggy's heart was pounding a mile a minute but he felt safe too. Frank was here. Nothing would happen to Foggy as long as Frank was here.

A figure appeared in the doorway and Foggy would forever hate that he recognized Matt first by the silhouette of his horns and then by the cut of his jaw. The Devil first and Matt second.

Frank brought his gun down.

"For fuck's sake, Red. I could have shot you."

"Is Foggy okay? Foggy, are you okay?"

Desperation in his voice, fearful and concerned. That was how Foggy had wanted him to sound, back when he had gotten shot. Too little, too late.

"You knew about this?" Frank was asking, voice low and dangerous.

"I overheard something earlier tonight," Matt snapped, "I was searching for him when I heard the gunshots but I was far away. I got there as fast as I could but by the time I got there you were gone and the place was on fire. _I smelled his blood_."

That last part Matt said like he was breaking apart, like it had driven him across the city roofs, reckless and wild. The smell in his nose driving him to Foggy's apartment, desperate to find him alive and well.

Foggy didn't want this to be happening.

He wanted to go to sleep, sink into drug assisted oblivion, clinging to the desperate certainty that Frank's presence would keep the nightmares at bay. He didn't want to think about the story he'd have to make up for his family, for Marci and Brett. What he'd have to tell Jeri to explain away his bruises and the fact he'd most likely miss work while he recovered. The lies he'd have to spin because it wasn't like he could say he walked into a door, he didn't have the easy excuse of being a blind man.

He didn't want to think about the truth of this night and Matt being here made that impossible. For a proven liar, Matt was currently a mirror of truth for all the little lies Foggy had told up to this moment. To his mom, to Brett, to himself. If Foggy looked at him right now, he'd see nothing but the brutal reflection of his reality.

"Foggy, Foggy, are you okay?"

And that wasn't Daredevil's rough, gravel voice, that was all Matt, soft and concerned. Foggy couldn't stand it.

"I don't want to talk," he said, tongue feeling thick in his mouth. Matt ignored him.

"I can still smell blood and it sounds like your ribs are bruised. Do you need to go to the hospital? I can tak-"

Frank made a rumbling noise, half comforting Foggy, half warning Matt away. Matt didn't listen.

"-Take you to the hospital. You should have gone, I'll take you now, you're going to be okay-"

"I shot him."

Matt broke off and Foggy could hear his breathing hitch. Foggy clung to Frank even tighter, twisting and pressing his face to Frank's skin as if he could just sink into him. 

"Foggy, what are you talking about?"

He was asking the question but he didn't sound as confused as he should. He sounded frightened and Foggy knew whatever Matt had come across at the warehouse before the fire had eaten everything up had at least left him suspecting. The scent of Foggy's skin on the grip of a gun? Foggy's blood on a dead man's fists? Who knew. 

"Foggy," Matt said again and from the sound of his voice, he had stepped deeper into the bedroom. Foggy pulled his face away from Frank's shoulder and turned his face slightly in Matt's direction. He didn't face him head on because what was the point. It felt like they were both blind.

"I shot him," Foggy repeated, deliberate. "I took the law into my own hands."

Judge, jury, executioner.

All Foggy had ever wanted to be was a lawyer. That was why he had such a hard time with Matt. Why play all the roles? Why even try? Juries were made of twelve men and women, so each could shoulder part of the responsibility. So nobody had to bear it alone. Why put yourself in a position where you had to make the hard choice with only yourself for company?

Foggy had made his choice for Frank. Because it was kill a man or watch Frank die and now Foggy didn't understand how Matt managed to draw his line in the sand. How could he stand to let these people go, to send them to a jail he knew wouldn't keep them?

If Mr. Alligator Smile had lived, escaped, he'd only try to kill Frank again. Would have ordered more people tortured. A hundred more Foggys and Franks his victims. It had to be okay that Foggy killed him. It was self-defense, common sense, the final solution to a horrific problem. All these reasons why killing him was the right choice and still, a little voice whispered in his head that he had only done it for Frank. He hadn't been thinking about other lives he could have saved, all the future crime he had stopped. He had only thought of Frank and that was why he had pulled the trigger.

To save Frank, it seemed there was little Foggy wouldn't do.

“Foggy, what did you do?”

Matt sounded wrecked, like Foggy was some sort of terrible thing, some sort of terrible, broken thing. Foggy had killed a man tonight and he didn’t feel sorry about it at all. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

“What I had to.”

Then he turned and burrowed his face back into Frank’s shoulder.

“Go away, Matt,” he said, not caring that his words were muffled. Matt’s keen hearing would pick it up anyway.

“You heard him, Red. No place for you here.”

Frank’s voice was a comforting rumble and Foggy sighed, sinking deeper against him. Frank was warm and underneath the smoke and dirt, smelled familiar. He knew without looking when Matt retreated, probably jumping out the living room window or something insane like that. Maybe telling himself Foggy brought this on his own head, maybe taking the blame because Matt liked to take the blame for everything except the things Foggy wanted him to.

All that mattered was that he was gone, no longer there to stare down and pass whatever judgment he saw fit.

Foggy was tired of judgment. Enough people had judgment passed on them this night and gone to hell for it. Let it end, at least for the night.

Frank settled back into the bed, obviously just as certain as Foggy that Matt was gone. The gun went back on the bedside table, Frank stripping off his shirt before laying next to Foggy. The comfort of skin was a blessing and Foggy sighed again as he laid his head against Frank's bare chest, the thump of his heart loud in his ears. This was what he needed. Just Frank wrapped around him, loving him. 

Frank called out to Max, who had sat obediently in his kennel despite his dislike for Matt. Foggy could hear Max moving around the bed, nails clicking on the floor.

“Gotta take him in to the groomer’s,” Foggy said, sleepily, “Get his nails trimmed.”

“I’ll do it, he stays still for me. C’mon boy, up on the bed.”

And so Foggy drifted off to the feel of Frank’s hand rubbing along his shoulder and Max’s weight settling at the foot of their bed.

This was where he belonged. 

With Frank.

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely iraya created some artwork! SWF although the second link has a shirtless Frank! 
> 
>  
> 
> [Frank, Foggy and Flowers!](http://iraya.tumblr.com/post/146984381559)
> 
>  
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> [Frank and Foggy K.I.S.S.I.N.G!](http://iraya.tumblr.com/post/147144151134)
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> 
> [A scene from Chapter 10](http://iraya.tumblr.com/post/149558405139) which I forgot to link to because I keep updating late at night when I am barely functional! Thank you again, iraya!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [doesn't matter if we've gone too far](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7768120) by [ORiley42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ORiley42/pseuds/ORiley42)
  * [The best bad idea I ever had](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8282426) by [shinykari (meinterrupted)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinterrupted/pseuds/shinykari)




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